My deposition ended in just enough time for me to catch an earlier flight back home than scheduled. But my suit today has all the metal parts: suspenders and tie bar and cuff links so I set off the metal detector. That meant I could either wrestle out of my suspenders or get a pat down. I elected the latter.
The TSA agent was friendly and complimented my shirt. He was efficient, humorous, firm yet gentle. No, no, no, I’m kidding. Here’s the punch line: he did not touch my junk.
I guess it went smoothly because I wasn’t a jerk and neither was he. I still don’t know, though, whether I’d object or acquiesce if put on the spot. My experience twenty minutes ago suggests a result that may be less steel-spined than my idealized vision of myself.
(This is intended to be a mini post but my cell phone editor has made making that designation non-obvious. So if someone could edit this to be of mini-post status it would be much appreciated. TIA, BL.)