pat & down

lotions, bomb juices, “I silently name the big one Pat and the even bigger one Down”, shimmy, shimmy shitballs, i’m calling it early: this is the greatest email ever.

unfortunately for you, reader, i’ve been listening to shitballs sand shit tons of the dropkick murphys lately (not surprising, given my ability to time travel at the moment). so because i imagined the entire debacle happening to this beantown soundtrack, i interrupt your reading beat with the songs in my head as suggested below.

———————————————————————–

From: CL (via MR)
Date: Mon, Jul 18, 2011 at 11:07 AM
Subject: The Female

Taking a cab to O’Hare airport worked surprisingly well this morning.  However…

Good thing I got here early!

After waiting in the I-need-some-free-bread-in-the-depression-era length security line, I get to stand in the 3-D xray photobooth of awesomeness and Assume The Position. Fun! Well, a little too fun because the second they are done scanning me an entire security SQUAD descends upon me.

I hear someone refer to me as “The Female” over a walkie-talkie.
“are you wearing a necklace ma’am?”
“um, no” (it is EXTREMELY obvious that I am not wearing a necklace, since I have on a low-cut tank top and sports bra).
“oh, well are you wearing an underwire bra?”
“no, a sports bra” (which is fluorescent yellow and showing).
“oh okay…”
At this point you know where this is going as much as I do, so I smile sweetly and explain that I have a pierced right nipple. Yay pierced nipple talk at 6am! Good morning!
Ahhhhhh she gets it now. Security people don’t care if you have 47 piercings in your asshole, they have seen it all, they just get upset when they don’t know what is setting off their doohickies. So we are fine now! Yay piercing. Mystery solved. We just have to check my hands for bomb juice and everyone can go on their merry ways. Swipeswipeswipe, “oh cool skull ring” she says. We are friends now. Bomb tester inserted into machine.

Beep….

Beep……

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!!!!!/@:$:)/@!!!!!!

Security squad descends again. I am soo not her friend anymore. After a series of lovely questions about possible chemicals I could have been playing with as I got ready this morning “no, no, ummm no” she finally squints and asks if I have applied any lotions.
She says ‘Lotions‘ with the same amount of horror and disgust as a vegan would apply to the idea of rubbing their hands with freshly butchered veal slabs.
Yes!! I try to smile and act excited. Hurrah we have discovered the problem! Everyone wears lotion. Is it Merry Way going time?
Nope.

“I’m sorry ma’am but we need to have you step aside here while we call the female manager for your pat down.”

Oh. Is that not what we just did? There was patting. The patting went downwards, right?
“Someone will be here shortly to escort you to The Room.”
The Room? Wait, really? The for serious private intense pat-down Room? Yessss OMG I’ve always wanted to DO that. So awesome!! Wait wait must not seem too excited because that is suspicious right? I smile wanly and ask how long this will take. I’m assured not long as soon as the special women arrive to perform the procedure.
So I stand in my socks waiting.

When the special women finally arrive I REALLY have to try not to look gleeful. They are massive. Huge. They must bench press sides of beef back there while they wait for pierced Females with moisturized hands to wander unsuspectingly through security. I silently name the big one Pat and the even bigger one Down.

A member of my security squad (we’ll call him Security Sam) heaps my things into his arms (“DO NOT touch your belongings ma’am”) and we trundle off like baby ducks who have been imprinted on two Texas steers.

The small rooms are made of some kind of industrial plexi and the whole section shakes when Pat throws open the door to Room #1 and performs a surprisingly dainty side stepping maneuver through the tiny entrance. I scooch inside after her and Sam follows, placing my things on a mini metal operating table. At this point Down wedges herself partially into the doorway and stops.

“Shitballs” she mumbles, lifting one arm and shimmying a little.

Can we just take a moment here to review the required official procedure for a full private pat-down? Apparently for The Female security risk there must be two female agents in the room, one to do the actual patting and the other to swab the belongings for more bomb juices. There cannot be a male security official in the room.

At least I am assuming this because Sam wants OUT. But it’s clear that he doesn’t know what to do now since Down seems to be really quite well stuck in the little plexi doorway. Sam hasn’t quite caught on to the fact that she’s immobile though, so he makes an ‘oh no, after YOU’ motion towards the inside of The Room. His gesture is pretty futile though as it has become apparent to everyone that all four of us will NOT fit into a cube of this volume at the same time. Down rearranges some guns or flashlights on her massive security belt and finally rockets herself back out into the world. Sam, mortified and relieved, escapes at high velocity as well.

It takes Down the ENTIRE time that Pat is explaining every little detail of the procedure to noisily smash herself all the way in through the tiny opening.

“…on the sensitive areas I will use the backs of my hands…”

BANG!!SCREEE!scrapescrapescrape
“…for your legs I will use a certain method called…”

jigglejiggleBAM “goddammit!”

“…you will need to hold your hands like this…”

squeaksqueak……squeak…POW!!!!

She’s in folks! Procedure time! After all that the pat-down goes quickly and smoothly and I take my things and book it out of there. I made it to my gate just in time and I am now on the Tarmac in Boston. Mission accomplished.

I just hope that Pat and Down are not still stuck in that tiny plexi room.

Pierced, moisturized, and fully searched,
CL

Sent from my iPhone.

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