“Name, please?” the woman manning the podium at the security checkpoint asked as she examined Bash’s ID.

“Bash Donnybrook,” Bash answered.

She glanced up at him with a trace of suspicion. Was this the moment she’d been trained for? Was this unassuming 19-year-old kid in the He-Man T-shirt the threat TSA was designed to deal with? Was it cavity search o’clock?

“Sorry,” Bash said. “Sebastian Donnybrook. I go by Bash.”

“I’ve never heard of someone calling themselves Bash,” she responded humorlessly.

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“It’s a thing,” Bash assured her.

“Bob!” she barked, without breaking eye contact with Bash.

A guy trotted over and she turned to him, gesturing to Bash’s ID. The two of them conferred in hushed tones for a moment. Then she turned back to Bash, still harboring a suspicious glint in her eye.

“Bob’s never heard of it either.”

“It’s a thing,” Bash repeated, now addressing the both of them.

The woman handed his ID back with a note of reluctance and said, “Say the name that’s on your ID next time.”

Bash nodded and continued on to the X-Ray machine. The woman’s suspicion about his identity was wildly misplaced. He was exactly who he said he was. Her suspicion would have been better directed at where he was headed and what he was going to do when he got there. Because he was headed for Pakistan and when he got there he was going to kick a man in the groin.