Latex Gloves*

*aka: Female Airport Security Guards with Big Hands

Getting your wallet stolen is no fun. Getting it stolen at a truck stop in the middle of the night is even worse. Getting it stolen (along with all your identification) at a truck stop while on vacation the day before you need to get on a plane to return to NYC is hell. Sans identity, I arrived at the airport 2 hours early for my flight. Having spent the previous night on the phone with the police, my bank, the good people at credit-cards-R-us-let-us-fuck-you-dry-with-interest-charges, my airline, and then the police again ... I was quite a tired camper. Walking towards the security check-in, I was trying hard not to think of the words that had been uttered to me by the woman with the husky voice at the airline help desk: "Well, they'll probably let you on the plane. But they are going to search you. [chuckling] They are going to seeeearch youuuuuu goooooood." (It's the way she elongated the words that brought images of latex gloves and hairy women with large hands to mind). I took a deep breath and was quickly at the front of the line. Asked for my photo ID, all I could do was hand over my boarding pass which was clearly stamped: NO ID. I knew I was in trouble when a small smile of pleasure crept onto the security guard's face as he instructed me: "Take off your shoes and go stand in the pen over by Helga." Helga??? Guuulp.

People had begun to stare as I slipped off my sneakers and climbed into the pen (a 3X3 foot area roped off with red and white stripped tape). A door opened behind me. I spun around to see ... could it be? ... no ... please, God, no ... a woman ... a woman with shoulders broader than Schwarzenegger's ... a woman holding up her forearm and stretching a latex glove down over her hand. I swooned. I clenched. I began to sweat. She turned towards me, eyed me suspiciously, and wiggled her fingers deeper into the glove. I believe my heart stopped beating. Helga swaggered towards me and spoke in a thick accent, "Mind if I have a look." Actually, yes. I did mind, but it was not a question. What could I do? I bowed my head in defeat. She opened the pen. She reached towards me. "Hand over your bag." My bag? Helga was just interested in violating my BAG! I slid it from my shoulder, presented it like a gift, and wiggled my socked toes in joy. Minutes later, I'd be on the plane - feeling safe knowing that there were women like Helga working for airport security.