Me, the terrorist

I got selected twice for a special in-depth airport security search, once in Toronto and once in Las Vegas. What the hell? Do I look like a terrorist? I think I do not. Perhaps, in hindsight, wearing my "Allah Ackbar" t-shirt was a mistake. Here's roughly how it went:

Me: I'm lining up at security now. I'm not talking to anyone in particular, I'm just setting the scene.

Stranger: I see.

Security guy: Can I see your boarding pass?

Me: Yes indeed you may.

Security guy: Oh dear, oh dear. Allow me to alter the configuration of this maze-like area with movable posts and elastic straps acting as barriers so that you can take a different route than everyone else and they can all stare at you and hide their children behind their legs. This way, please.

Me: Oh dear. But I'm white!

Security guy: This isn't Texas.

Me: True. Okay.

Second security guy: Hi ...Thomas?

Me: Ross.

Second security guy: Ross! I'm Malcolm and I'll be searching you invasively today.

Me: Would you still search me invasively if I were called Thomas?

Malcolm: Even more invasively.

Me: Ah.

Malcolm: Now if you could just place your feet on this mat with outlines of feet drawn on it in case you're exceptionally stupid and haven't yet grasped the complexities of standing still, and raise your arms to shoulder-level with your palms facing up...

Me: My palms don't have faces.

Malcolm: Do not toy with me.

Me: Gulp. I am now assuming the position you described.

Malcolm: So I see. Now please don't move while I wave this magical beeping wand over your body. But first I must wave it near my own chest so that it beeps.

Me: Why?

Malcolm: It makes my nipples hard. Okay, here we go...

Me: Oh dear. It beeped.

Malcolm: I'm afraid it did. Can you take your shoes off?

Me: Yes, I've been able to do that for many years.

Malcolm: Excellent. Could you do that for me right now?

Me: With pleasure. I have now removed my shoes.

Malcolm: Very impressive. Okay. It seems it was your shoes making this magic wand beep, not your feet, so I won't need the scalpel, but I will have to inspect your shoes just in case. Is there anything sharp in there that might cut my skin or pierce my skin, that might lacerate me and cause me grievous bodily harm, or that might penetrate my epidermis in such a way as to cause vital fluids to leak from my interior?

Me: Aren't those all the same thing?

Malcolm: Yes, but I have a degree in English and I feel a bit wasted here to be honest.

Me: I don't generally keep sharp things in my shoes. I have a sharp tongue, but not the shoe kind.

Malcolm: That joke was lame but clever. Okay, here I go.

Me: Good luck.

Malcolm: Your shoes are safe. Though you might want to consider a darker brown -- these don't complement your pants very well.

Me: Fair enough. What now?

Malcolm: Now you must unbutton your pants and roll the waistband down.

Me: To make your nipples hard?

Malcolm: No, so that I can see if you have hidden weapons.

Me: Ah. Okay. There.

Malcolm: Great. Now I want you to stand still while I run my hands over your body in the way you normally only let a lover touch you. Is that okay?

Me: Not really, no. I'm uncomfortable with a man's intimate caress.

Malcolm: Too bad. Do you have any difficulty breathing, or any areas of your body that cause pain when touched?

Me: If I have difficulty breathing while a burly security guard runs his hands over my body then I have bigger problems than I previously suspected.

Malcolm: Good point. Okay, here I go. Oooh... Nice.

Me: Thanks. I'm particularly proud of that part of my body.

Malcolm: Now I'm going to run my fingers through your hair. Do you need a dandruff protector for your shoulders?

Me: No, my scalp is in impeccable condition.

Malcolm: Great! You don't seem to be hiding any nuclear devices in your hair. Alright! We're done.

Me: Thank God.

Malcolm: Now we just need to search your bags.

Me: Ah.

Malcolm: So put your shoes on and step to this table, if you would be so kind.

Me: Righto. I notice there are no outlines of feet walking to the table for me to follow. I'm not sure what to do.

Malcolm: Use your imagination. These are your bags?

Me: Yes. A nice Saudi Arabian man packed them for me.

Malcolm: This is probably not the situation in which to be making jokes, given that I have the right to interrupt your passage in several senses of the expression.

Me: Please don't do that.

Malcolm: Trust me, I'd prefer not to. Is this a laptop?

Me: You mean the laptop-shaped object with the Apple symbol on the lid, the sockets for various connectors parading up the side, and the light on the front that's fading on and off to indicate it's in sleep mode? Yes.

Malcolm: If I open the lid will I be presented with pictures of dwarves having sex with farmyard animals or anything of that nature?

Me: The chances are slim.

Malcolm: Shame. Yup. It's a laptop alright. Okay! We're really done this time. I was just joking before.

Me: So I can go?

Malcolm: Yup.

Me: Can you tell all those people to stop looking at me as if I'm going to quote from the Koran and blow myself up?

Malcolm: No. I'm afraid you just have to deal with it. After you've left this area you'll encounter some of them again, but you won't know who they are, so after a while it'll seem like everyone is looking at you suspiciously. Eventually you'll be consumed by paranoid delusions fed by acute lack of sleep and a diet consisting entirely of fruit for the last two weeks.

Me: Well, that's nice. Thanks, Malcolm. I'd say it's been fun but that would be a filthy lie.

Malcolm: Sure. Hey, you! Meek-looking woman with baby! Get your terrorist ass over here and spread 'em...