Well, I'm sitting in Dulles airport. Rain fell for about ten minutes during the drive out here, and the consequences have been dire: not only is my flight delayed, but the jetway has somehow been damaged and a power surge left the display board frozen in a cruel "ON TIME" rictus.

In other words, it's a great time for complaining. But not about any of this, actually: I've got the internet, a nearby Five Guys, and a power outlet. My boss, JP, is sitting next to me, obsessively checking our flight status in a way that ensures I don't have to pay any attention to what's going on. And the other guy sitting next to me has now made three consecutive phone calls expressing his nearly-outraged incredulity regarding the type of solder and flux that a subordinate suggested using for a project ("40/60?! Who does he think he is?"). I think he's talking about plumbing, but I'd like to believe I have it within my heart to embrace soldering in all its many forms, so this background noise still counts as soothing.

No, I'm pretty well set-up here. This carping has to be backdated: it's about what happened on Sunday when Emily, Charles and I flew out of SFO. The security area wasn't crowded. Charles had gone through the metal detector, I think, and Emily and I were the only two people at the table to which we'd been assigned.

"Excuse me, miss!" said a busty, bustling TSA representative. "I have a registered passenger here!"

The Registered Traveler program, you might recall, is a fairly new initiative by which air passengers can pass through expedited security lines by paying a $100-ish yearly fee to one of several private firms that then run regular background checks. Those who enroll pass through faster lines, and eventually may be allowed to do things like keep their shoes on or their laptops in their bags. It's meant for frequent travelers, and we, the public, are assured that the fees will provide additional lines and personnel — there should be no effect on those who don't enroll.

This was not our experience. The young woman brought by the TSA employee was allowed to cut in front of us, and was then personally led through the security process like a blind baby kitten. That was irritating, but not a particularly large inconvenience — like I said, the lines weren't long. But there also wasn't much of a point to plopping that lady's patrician ass in front of us and escorting her through — it probably made her feel special, and us less so, but nobody was saved or cost any meaningful amount of time. Still, if this is the system they use during busy periods, it really is going to make air travel worse for everyone who doesn't pony up $100/year to gain entry into the program.

Now of course there's nothing wrong with charging more for better service. But I think there's at least a little something wrong when that service is a government-mandated barrier to travel, and more so when it's one powered by secret lists and standards about which appeal is nearly or completely impossible. It also seems like a bad idea to give richer — and therefore more influential — passengers a way out of a system that, without some sort of opposing pressure, will inevitably become more and more irritating and inhumane as bureaucrats try to save their jobs by figuring out up ways to prevent plots that no one can anticipate.

I suspect the registered traveler is doomed to descend into the kind of corruption that surrounds Russian cars' flashing blue lights, although probably in a somewhat less glaringly tacky fashion. It's an inherently elitist system administered by private interests that's granted the power to short-circuit an allegedly vital security system. How could anyone think this will end well?