cold hands, patriotic heart

Dear Juan,

I see you’re a cavity search consultant. I’m assuming this is some type of government job. Do you work for Homeland Security? If so, I salute your contribution in the fight against terrorism. The reason I ask is because my wife and I are taking a trip next month, and a persistent personal problem prohibits me from walking without difficulty. The fact that I’m eighty one years old doesn’t help. Do cavity search professionals profile passengers based on ethnicity or awkward gait?

Roy Rickles
Shuffleboard City, Arizona

Dear Roy,

I retired from my life’s passion due to a rare olfactory disorder called Doocy‘s Disease. Life isn’t fair. My current occupation doesn’t hold a flashlight to the exciting challenges I faced as a cavity search consultant. The brave men and women who probe, poke and occasionally extract contraband don’t receive enough credit. Thanks for recognizing the Rubber Glove Brigade’s service.

To answer your question, of course profiling occurs. If you’re wearing a beard and turban, bend over. Depending on complexion, men in pointy Middle Eastern shoes have a 75 percent chance of ‘dropping trou’. The odds of attractive Columbian women and male interior decorators undergoing enhanced pre-flight scrutiny hovers around 83 percent. The few who request a cavity search are almost always obliged. We call these volunteers “practice dummies.” Sean Hannity, a persistent volunteer, inserted raisins up his rectum to keep us on the ball. It just goes to show that someone doesn’t have to be in uniform to help keep America safe from evil.

It was my experience that Caucasians over sixty were rarely probed.

There was one CSS (Cavity Search Specialist) who was unnatural suspicious of older white women. Eventually reassigned to the Seniors Administration on Aging after Cloris Leachman barely survived an unusually vigorous examination, he is now in the nursing home industry.

Last week a nice sounding young man contacted me expressing interest in exploring cavity search opportunities. He arrived visibly intoxicated, stumbling about the front porch with a bottle of Blue Nun and Bette Midler records. Needless to say, I didn’t let him in. I just can’t put my finger on why it still bothers me.