Felt Up

I stepped through the scanner at the airport and did the little pose. I stepped out and the young, skinny black kid halted me with his hand and checked the scan.

"Okay," he said. "Do you have anything in your right pocket?"

"No," I said.

I was wearing sweatpants and every once in awhile I get a pat down because the pants bunch up, I guess.

"Would you like to do this here or go to a back room?" He asked.

"Do what?" I asked.

He was snapping on a pair of gloves.

"I need to do a pat down. Do you have anything in your pockets? Last chance."

"I don't," I said. "Do what you have to do."

I watched my bag make it through the scan, along with my shoes and coat.

"Do you have any painful spots?" He asked.

I laughed.

"Go ahead."

I'm not sure what I was expecting but he went up and down each leg and then patted my ass. Just before I said "What the $&&$?"

He went up the inside of my left thigh and I just looked at him as he actually violated the space where things hang.

He then moved to the right inner thigh.

"All good," he said.

I looked at him and he shrugged.

"Doing my job," he said.

And I have to tell you, it pissed me off a bit. It was invasive, embarrassing and absolutely unnecessary.

"I'm curious about that scanner I stepped through," I said. "What good is that if you have to massage me after I step through it."

"You're free to go," he said in his big-boy authoritative voice.

I put my shoes on...

...seething.

The little dope was staring me down.

I was wondering if he would up the search if I asked him another question.

"Have a safe flight," he said.

"Thank you for keeping us safe," I said.

I grabbed my bag and headed towards the gate.

He could've at least bought me a drink.

Ridiculous.