fandomhigh | Career ... Something-or-Other, Pam's Forgotten and Cheryl Never Learned It Anyway [Friday, Period 1]

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Career ... Something-or-Other, Pam's Forgotten and Cheryl Never Learned It Anyway [Friday, Period 1]

Today when the students came to the Danger Shop, where they'd been told to meet thanks to a hastily scrawled note on the door to their normal classroom that read We're in that big mindfuck room, go there, they'd find Cheryl and Pam standing in a room that certainly looked like a TSA checkpoint. (Assuming all of you were familiar with such a thing.)

"Ugh, they found us. Pam, we have to be more vague next time."

“They have to find us, dumbass,” Pam sighed. “If we don’t teach, we don’t get paid.” She wasn’t sure that was true, but it sounded true, and it might keep Cheryl relatively motivated. “But we can be vaguer and then they’ll show up, like, real late, and it still counts.”

And the kids might just give up in frustration instead! Win-win!!!

“So for the next few weeks in … I don’t remember what I named this class, but something about Career Advice,” Pam said, super-professionally, “we’re gonna show you some careers that might, like, actually work out for you guys. Not that ‘astronaut’ and ‘firefighter’ bullshit, but things that you guys might somehow be qualified for, and won’t fuck up too badly.”

Good to know your teachers had faith in you.

"So today, we picked something anyone can do. Literally anyone. I've seen old people who don't know where they are manage this one." It wasn't confirmed, but Cheryl was sure those old ladies at the airport with their knees covered by blankets were always hiding something. "You guys are gonna practice being…drug mules!"

She actually sort of threw her hands up in the air at that, as though announcing a parade or that there was free cake.

And about now might have been when everyone noticed the balloons she had laid out on the table. Cheryl wasn't going to tell the kids to use them, but...you know. They were there.

“If those kids use those properly, we’re gonna get arrested,” Pam said. Sounding just as long-suffering as you would, if you happened to, you know, teach class with Cheryl. “So get creative. Find ways to get through the scanner, and get your luggage through. We’ve got fake-heroin here for you,” flour, in Ziploc bags, on the table -- and you knew it was fake-heroin because lol like they’d hand over the real stuff instead of using it, “but if you want to smuggle something else through, that’s fine, too, so long as it’s legitimately contraband. No telling us your hands are lethal weapons and expecting that to count.”

"And you're not smuggling it past us," Cheryl added, jerking a thumb towards the two cops that ~~Pam~~ someone had helpfully programmed in. "You have to get it past those guys. So if you get caught, you better either be good at sweet-talking or want to go to prison."

Except how it was fake, but shhh.

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Like you ain't scared of the po-po.

Barry Ween

Anders

Felicity Smoak

Kathy Li

Joker Moreau

The word 'lecture' can only stretch so far, you guys.

Kathy had really, really thought they were going to learn about doing the TSA's job. Like, she'd honest and truly expected this to be a class where she learned something...well, maybe not useful, but something.

Her expression upon learning what they were really doing was something that bordered on 'priceless.'

Joker fired his omnitool up all glowy-like and pointed it at Kathy to take her picture. "Awwww, that's an adorable face!"

Take some of the flour-heroin. Find a place to hide it. Get past the TSA agents and their drug-sniffer dogs*. Or pick your own contraband and smuggle it past. But it's gotta be legit, guys.

If you get questioned, smooth-talk your way onto that plane and out of jail.

*who won't be sniffing for flour, so this bit might not be as hard as Pam and Cheryl are expecting.

Barry gave a little smirk and went to work.

First he took a balloon...

NOT THAT WAY! DON'T BE SICK!

-Then a newspaper, an empty McDonald's cup and a big of flour.

First he made a balloon animal (SEE!) and then went into the bathroom where he made a paste with the "drugs" and water in the cup. Then he took strips of newspaper and did a paper mache over the balloon dog. After it dried for a bit he started heading to the TSA agents with his little pinata.

The TSA agents were bored. And cranky. And going to give the kids as much shit as possible.

"Shoes off, luggage on the conveyor belt," one of them said in a dull monotone. "Take all keys and loose change and put them in a basket. Take off any metallic items of clothing -- belts, eyeglasses, and put those in a basket, too."

"Shit, why don't I just get naked while I'm at it,' Barry complained as he put all the items including the paper mache'd drug dog on the conveyor belt.

"We don't need your smart-mouth, sir," the agent drawled. "And what in the hell is that?"

Normal TSA agents weren't quite so nosy. Too bored to care what you packed, because they had seen more dildoes, whips, and penis pumps than your average adult bookstore. But Pam and Cheryl were down on cops, and kind of thought TSA agents were cops, so the agents were gonna be extra-dickish about everything.

"It's a pinata for my little brother," Barry explained. "He loves to beat them all to fucking hell and get candy and shit from it."

"Is there candy already in the pinata, sir?" the TSA agent asked with narrowed eyes. "What sort of candy might be in the pinata?"

"It's empty," Barry said picking it up and offering it to the po-po. "See for yourself."

The agent examined the pinata, even bending down to sniff it. "You're gonna put candy in it once you reach your destination?"

It was important to clarify.

"Probably smarties," Barry replied with a nod. "My brother likes the tart stuff."

"Let 'im through," the agent called to the darker-haired one, waving Barry past. "He's clean."

Sucker.

Anders had some experience sneaking contraband past the Templars, so he assumed he could take care of this as well. He put the baggie of "heroin" down the side of his boot, where it wrapped neatly around his ankle.

As long as he didn't limp or get asked to take his shoes off, he'd be fine!

Unfortunately, the Templars didn't have those big body x-rays that they made people take their shoes off for. So Anders was going to have a problem here in a moment.

"Shoes off, luggage on the conveyor belt," the other TSA agent said in a dull monotone. "Take all keys and loose change and put them in a basket. Take off any metallic items of clothing -- belts, eyeglasses, and put those in a basket, too."

It was a memorized script and they hated it. They hated this job, they hated their lives, they hated all the stupid people who wanted to get on airplanes, and they hated that conveyor belt. Feel the low-burning bureaucratic loathing!

Well. That put a crimp in his plans, didn't it.

Anders unbuckled his belt and dropped it in the tray, then hesitated. "I can't take these off," he said, gesturing to the boots. "It's a ... religious issue."

"What kinda religion?" asked the man, suspiciously, but the blond agent from the next row down came over.

"We at the TSA respect all religions, creeds, races and faiths equally," he said, in that same dull had-to-memorize-this-shit tone. "If your religion will not allow you to go barefoot, rubber shoes can be provided. If you are not allowed to remove your boots in public, we can set up a private stall with an agent of your gender who will be discreet. We must be allowed to examine your boots for plastic explosives and wiring."

"That's absurd," Anders blustered. "I promise my boots don't have any plastic explosives in them, or any wiring. But I can't let strangers look inside them."

"We'd need to at least X-ray them," said the blond agent. "And let the drug-sniffing dogs get near them."

"And the bomb-sniffing dogs," suggested the dark-haired man.

"Right, those too," agreed the supervisor. Dark-haired was making him look bad in front of the religious weirdo. This was going on his next performance review.

Anders took just a moment before realizing dogs looking for bombs and drugs probably couldn't smell flour. (He hopes not, anyhow.)

"The dogs can smell them," he offered. "And -- I don't know what an x-ray is, but the Maker might not like that, either."

The two agents looked at each other for a moment. The blond agent finally offered, "Fine, get over here, we're gonna let the dogs smell 'em. Got any allergies to canines? They against your religion, too?"

He didn't mean to be snarky. He was just really tired of having to compromise his job performance because weird people were coming through his airport.

"Dogs are fine," Anders said, pretending to weariness. He walked to where the agent indicated and braced himself.

Kathy didn't know the first thing about smuggling drugs. What, did she look like she was a member of the Seventeens? Had she put on a green bandanna when she wasn't looking? What little she knew about drug smuggling involved snippets of shows on HBO and she was not about to put drugs anywhere like that.

[Gonna be gone till Monday in a few, will pick up pings then.]

"Next, please," called out the bored-looking blond agent. "Faster we do this, the less of you have to miss your planes."

Joker took a bag and taped it to his stomach, then pulled his shirt down over it. Since Future!fashion tended toward the skin-tight, it was really obvious that it was there.

He played up the crutches as much as he could as he slowly made his way to the checkpoint. This could go a couple of different ways, and all of 'em would be hilarious.

"Shoes off, luggage on the conveyor belt," said the brown-haired TSA agent. He hadn't noticed the shirt yet. "Take all keys and loose change and put them in a basket. Take off any metallic items of clothing -- belts, eyeglasses, and put those in a basket, too."

He then got an actual look at Joker, and it wasn't the shirt that caught his attention. "... Oh. Uh."

Where was his supervisor when he needed him?

Joker nodded. "Yeeeeah. These 'metallic items of clothing'" -- he used a crutch to gesture at his leg braces -- "aren't really coming off. Sorry? But my ship -- I mean plane -- is gonna leave real soon, and I've got a long, LONG walk ahead of me. Can we do this quickly?"

"Looks like we're gonna have to do a pat-down," said the other TSA agent, sighing. "Step over here, son, and lift your arms."

See? Just like a real airport!

"Oh, come on, pleeeeeeeeease?," Joker whined. "I'm late and it's a long way and my legs hurt already. Can't you just wave me through?"

"The longer you whine, the longer this is gonna take," the agent said gruffly, hitching up his pants. "We don't even let little old ladies through without a pat-down, buddy."

"So, that's how you get your jollies, now?" Joker asked grumpily. "Feeling up old ladies and cripples? Just let me through, man. Please. I promise I'm not carrying a bomb, okay?"

"Aw, he's just a kid!" the other agent called, waving. "And he's probably...you know." He tapped at his head, subtly.

That was a lot better than just coming out and calling Joker mentally retarded, right? Right.

"Fiiiiiiiiiiiiine," the agent said, waving him through. "Use the moving walkways to rest your legs, kid. You've got it hard enough."

Such a softie.

"Really?!" Joker asked, with a big fake grin plastered on. "You mean it?!?! Thank you so much!!!" He started walking past them. "Oh, thank goodness!," he exclaimed to himself. "I thought they were gonna find the heroin!"

"Waaaaaaait just one minute!" Joker had the agents' full attention again. "Find the what now, son?"

Even they weren't that dim.

They are probably trying to snort the flour.

Just in case.

I love all of Pam's prison icons.

As I said before: she's never been in prison in the show. This is all stuff the creators post to Facebook during the down time between seasons. Apparently Pam just gets arrested a lot.

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Career ... Something-or-Other, Pam's Forgotten and Cheryl Never Learned It Anyway [Friday, Period 1]

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