I've been trying to shake a feeling of 'ICK' all day.
Yesterday I got up just after4 with the idea of writing my blog before heading to the airport to fly out west for my lecture tour of Washington and British Columbia. But, though I was up at 4 all I managed to to was sit on the side of the bed and stare vacantly out into space. Joe was 'chipper' and kept saying, 'Are you going to write your blog?' or 'Have you written your blog yet?' After 5 or 10 minutes of this he simply gave up and left me sitting on the side of the bed.
By the time we got to the airport I was beginning to feel the joy of travel again and we chatted with the Air Canada personnel at the desk and then got a push down to the security check. I was asked, as I always am, if I could walk through the scanner. I say, 'no' and then push around the side for the manual pat down.
I hate the pat down.
It is totally weird having some guy I don't know run his hands all over my body. Even though the hand is in a glove, even though they use the back of the hand (mostly) I still don't like the experience. But most of the guys that do it, do it well, there is an air of efficiency and it gets done quickly and though I've been touched I don't feel touched, if that makes any sense at all.
Well, it was different yesterday morning.
The guy put on the glove, making a show of himself doing it. I only noticed him because it seemed that he really wanted me to notice him. Then he patted me down. From the moment his hands touched me I knew that this was different from any other time I've had this experience. I wanted to tell him to stop, I wanted to ask for someone else, but I couldn't. I didn't know what he was doing differently. I couldn't see what he was doing differently. I just knew it was very, very different. I was being touched. Icky touched.
I glanced around me and everyone was doing what they should be doing. No one was noticing. I begin and inner dialogue. "I am just tired from the early morning, I am just on edge from a slightly low blood sugar reading, I am just ..." But none of that helped me. I was being touched, dammit, all over my body.
Then, suddenly, it was over. I got my stuff from the belt and the pusher was there to help me to the gate.
I said nothing.
I didn't know what to say.
I still don't know how to describe how his touch was different from every single other time I've been patted down.
And because of that, I wonder.
Will I be believed?