The $78 That Changed My Life: A Love Letter to TSA PreCheck





Listen, I don’t usually throw around phrases like "life-changing," but here we are. After years of stubbornly standing in the regular TSA line a couple of times a year with the masses, removing my belt like a hostage, doing the barefoot shuffle while my dignity leaks out onto the cold airport floor, I finally caved.I knew i would be doing some serious traveling.

I paid the money. I got TSA PreCheck.

And friends, let me tell you: it’s the best $78 I have ever spent in my entire life. I would have happily paid double. Triple, even. This is not an endorsement. This is a full-blown testimonial. Most of the time I'd rather hit myself in the thumb with a hammer than willingly give the government any money, I went three years without buying aa fishing license once

The Line That Feels Like a Secret Society

The first thing you notice is how calm it is. PreCheck people are different. It’s like we’ve all silently agreed: "We know what we’re doing here. Let’s keep it moving, folks."

Nobody’s arguing about the liquids rule. Nobody’s trying to carry a gallon of shampoo in a Ziplock bag. Shoes stay on. Belts stay on. Laptops stay in the bag where they belong. The line moves like an assembly line of seasoned travelers who all read the instructions ahead of time.

Honestly, I half expect them to serve coffee while we glide through.

The TSA Agents Are... Nice?

Now, I don't know if it's part of the PreCheck training, or if working that line just puts them in a better mood, but the TSA agents in PreCheck seem... happy? Polite? Occasionally even friendly?

I was fully expecting my usual interaction: clipped sentences, slight air of suspicion, minor scolding for something I didn’t realize was contraband. But instead, I got:

"Good morning, sir. Welcome."

Sir. Welcome.
What kind of alternate reality was this?

The Soda Incident

Here’s where it really hit me that this was a different world.

As I’m rolling my bag onto the conveyor, one agent spots something in the scanner. He motions me over. I’m bracing for it. He unzips my backpack, reaches in, and pulls out the offending item: a full can of soda I completely forgot was in there.

He holds it up and says, in the tone of a friendly bartender at last call:

"Hey, sir — you wanna chug this or should I toss it for you?"

Not: "WHAT IS THIS LIQUID?"
Not: "Step aside, sir."
Not: "Secondary screening required."
Just... polite options. Like a civilized human being.

I half expected him to offer me a chilled glass and a straw.

I laughed, told him to toss it, and that was that. Bag zipped up, smile exchanged, off I went. Smooth as could be.

The Emotional Damage of Regular Security

Today at O'Hare  as i walked past by the regular security line, I feel like a man who has glimpsed freedom. I see the poor souls in their socks, juggling their laptops, digging out plastic bags of toiletries, and wrestling with their belts like they’re entering a medieval jousting tournament.

I want to reach out and tell them:
“You don’t have to live like this. There’s a better way.”

I would have but the line was way too long

Worth Every Penny

TSA PreCheck may very well be the most satisfying purchase I’ve ever made. No subscription. No monthly fee. Just $78 for five years of sanity. That’s $15.60 a year to avoid removing your shoes and getting treated like you’re trying to smuggle plutonium in a backpack.

If you travel even once or twice a year, it’s worth it. If you travel more? It’s a borderline miracle. I've flown twice with my secret code and spent a combined 8 minutes from the end of the line to the terminal

Final Thought

If someday my kids ask me what was the best investment I ever made, they’ll expect me to say something noble like buying our home or saving for retirement.

Nope.

“TSA PreCheck, kids. That’s when your old man really started living.”

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