ok, this true story got told a handful of times at the emergent convention, and a few asked me to post it. so here goes. this is word-for-word true (it is so emblazened on my psyche), and still leaves me with a combo-platter-feeling of uncomfortable wigglies and incredulous laughter. (oh, and btw, the “glasses” referred to in this story are not the ones in the photo on my blog — those are my old, less seductive glasses, apparently.)

march 3, 2005. location: San Fransisco International Airport, premiere security check-point, next to United counter. absolutely no one in line; so it’s just me and the very large employee of the US government — one of the high-caliber employees of the transportation safety administration…

TSA guy [as i’m taking off my shoes, unloading my laptop, emptying my pockets]: hey, those are really nice glasses… i LIKE those glasses a lot… tell me about them!

me [awkwardly]: well, thanks. i just got them a week ago.

TSA guy: i mean, i really like them. tell me more about them. what brand are they? where did you get them?

me [still awkwardly, still unpacking my junk]: um, well, they’re prada’s, but i just got them at lenscrafters…

TSA guy [leaning across table to get about 6 inches from my face, only slightly lowering voice]: they’re makin’ my d*** hard! [grin]

me [nervous and highly awkward, leaning backward]: ha! [at this point, i also — perhaps foolishly — playfully smacked him on the arm, implying, “well, aren’t you oddly silly and highly inappropriate”]

TSA guy: so, what would you do if i tried to take those from you? would ya run? i bet you’d run, wouldn’t you? are you fast? do you think i could catch you?

me [trying to remain calm, almost finished with the unpacking and shoving into the x-ray machine]: i’m not very fast, and you’d probably catch me. but, um, i guess that’s when i’d be glad this is a very crowded place with lots of security.

TSA guy [leaning in again, this time about 3 inches from my face, with a reasonably wicked smile]: i am security.

at this point, i pretty-much bolted through the screener. it went off. i had to go back and take off my belt. once “cleared”, i was so wigged-out, i threw my stuff together and almost ran away (i suppose it could be called a “pep-step”). as i was high-steppin’ away, i heard a voice calling to me: sir, sir, you forgot your belt!