Water Cooler Games served as the web's primary forum for "videogames with an agenda" — coverage of the uses of video games in advertising, politics, education, and other everyday activities, outside the sphere of entertainment.
The site was maintained at watercoolergames.org from 2003-2009, where it was edited by myself and Gonzalo Frasca. It is now archived here in full.
I was traveling today, and I checked my bag in at the curb. For the first time, I decided to watch the Transportation Security Administration (TSA) officer screen my bag. Those of you who have traveled recently in the US were probably required to have your bag chemical screened at the ticket counter, but you may not know that the TSA may also open your bag and do pretty much whatever they want with it behind the scenes. This is what I watched them do at the curb. I sort of hid myself out of the way so I wouldn't influence the process.
I was checking a garment bag with two suits, a couple shirts, a sweater, a toiletry kit, an umbrella, and a scarf and gloves. First the agent did the usual surface chemical tests. Then he laid the bag flat and felt all around it before opening the main compartment and feeling around through and around my suit jacket pockets and lapels. He did another chemical screening on the inside. He carefully checked each layer of clothing in the bag. Next he took out the toiletry kit, opened it and looked through the contents. He took out a canister of bay rum aftershave, opened it and smelled it several times before returning it to the bag. He went through all the pockets inside and outside the bag, taking the contents out and then replacing them. He took out the umbrella, opened it, looked inside, then closed and resealed it. This went on for perhaps 15 minutes before I gave up and went inside to find my gate.
Now, I find this whole process highly disturbing. Not because of the invasion of privacy so much as the banal and regimented manner by which this TSA agent went through all my stuff. It's like watching a 50 year old autistic rummage through his mother's underwear drawer: a detached, emotionless kinesthetic rape of intimacy. It's like making love to a concrete doll.
What must it be like to spend all day leaving through pretty girls' thong panties, old men's fetid golf shirts, obsessive tourists' mumus and wrinkle-free cargo khakis... this must be a deeply disquieting charge.
We've talked before on WCG about transportation security, but I wonder if there isn't an opportunity here for a game about this new kind of government appointed pervert, the men and women who can't even take the pleasure of voyeurism without testing their fetish for explosive chemicals...
Any volunteers with design concepts?
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