I wonder what the 70 year-old lady in the fish bowl next to me had in her handbag.

My boss said something the other day that I will add to my list of favorite sayings: "You've done a great job wallpapering the bedroom closet, but the fire that started in the kitchen is now in the living room". It's a perfect analogy for the retail business--keep your head down too long on a piddly project, and you miss the bigger picture (usually sales). It also applies to my experience at the Portland Airport Security Checkpoint. I had a metal card-holder in my back pocket (especially when traveling, I like to keep one credit card and form of ID in my purse, another set in my pocket--if a thief gets one, at least I have the other). I had forgotten about it when emptying my person of metal goods before walking through x-ray. I had removed my earrings, necklace, coat, shoes, even my belt. These security checks are humbling enough, does the container for my personal belongings really have to be a dog dish? Don't get me started. So, the machine beeps at my card holder. I immediately realize my oversight and pull it out, "Oh, here, it's this, I forgot, so sorry." Not good enough. I'm pulled aside into the clear-glass paneled exam area (the 'fish bowl'), told to stand with my feet apart on the diagram (designed for 6ft tall men) and then patted down by Attila. She didn't even want to look at the offending object. It was tossed aside, along with my passport (!) and ticket, onto a chair in plain view and easy reach of anyone still lingering at the exit of the security area--which was a lot of people. Putting on their shoes and buckling their pants. Out of context, it looked like the last five minutes of an orgy. I don't mind being hand-scanned. I can spread my legs and open out my arms wide. I don't mind being cooperative. I do, however, mind the loud running commentary: "I'm going to touch your breasts now, How's that underwire working for ya?, Ok, free government back rub!" Free government backrub? Excuse me? No one can bear to hear lame attempts at funny when being stared at by fifty strangers, held in an akward physical position and fondled by a government agent in an ill-fitting uniform. Could we perhaps do this with some dignity?? After another few humiliating moments, I was allowed to proceed. Which meant making my way back through the fray to pick up my belongings (out of the school desk tray and dog dish). My coat, shoes, and purse had not been further inspected, I was free to go. In my purse? A lighter, a crochet hook and thread scissors. All contraband.