Don't move when scanned

When our flight to Chicago was cancelled, United Airlines tried to reroute us via Knoxville, which is less than a two hour drive from our home.  The desk clerk assured us we'd make the alternate flight, though the timing was tight.  Predictably nervous, I flinched while having a body scan, and the Homeland Security officer summoned a female officer to give me a pat down.  That's what they call it, but the procedure was more like a gynecological exam with my clothes on.  The officer was a humorless African American female. Over a head taller than I, she wore hair extensions and bright blue gloves. She offered to do the pat down in private, but I told her to just get it over with. Refusing to rush, she explained what would happen in excruciating detail.  "I will run my hand down your back and then check your buttocks.  I will move my hand down your legs,  and then check your breasts and your crotch."  The degree of detail made me anticipate everything happening and increased my discomfort. 

When I tried to joke about the procedure, she advised me I shouldn't be talking. Never before have I been on such intimate terms with law enforcement. In medical settings,  you are told what's going to happen, but if you prefer get on with things, it's respected.  Here, there was no repect. After the body search, the officer placed her blue gloves under a scanner to check for explosives.  When none were found, she said I was free to go.

Grinning, I thanked her for protecting our country and told her I'd blog about the experience.  She didn't smile.  "Tell 'em not to move when they go through the scanner." 

We missed our flight.