Sunday, August 28, 2011
Now we know where Strawberry Quik comes from.
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book
It took me years to write, will you take a look
Order The Glass Character from:
Barnes & Noble
August 19, 2011, 9:00 pm
By DICK CAVETT“I’ll be passing the back of my hand over your buttocks and then come up the insides of your legs up toward the private parts. Is that O.K.?”
“Sounds peachy to me,” I knew not to say. You’re not supposed to joke with airport security, as people have learned the hard way.
This makes sense, but as with so much about airport security — or as someone has called it, “Security Theater” — it seems a bit silly. Are terrorists known for their tendency to joke? (Is there a paperback called “Jokes for Jihadists”?)
When you refuse, as I do, to be ordered into the big scanner with its “safe” amount of X-ray, you are made to feel like a wimp and told to “Stand over there!” And over there — with maybe one or two others who have also noted that whatever X-rays you are urged to get in life are invariably “safe” — you stand, a little ashamed, waiting until the patter gets back from the toilet.
On a recent patting (and the patters, I should say, are a nice lot, picked perhaps for their demeanor) the description “toward the private parts” had a grain of inaccuracy. The rising hands didn’t stop short, causing a slight “ow” on my part. “Sorry” was delivered feelingly (no pun intended).
Another time, after having been felt up in public, I fell into a pleasant chat with the man with the business-like hands. He’d recognized me, and there were no other pattees waiting.
I asked, “What sort of jokes are you tiredest of by the one patted?”
“Oh, you can probably guess,” my guy said cheerfully.
“Something like, ‘Hey, cute stuff, whatcha doin’ after the show?’ ” I guessed.
“You got it.”
“Any of the would-be humorists ask what sort of man would seek a job patting other men?”
“You got it again.”
“How are you supposed to behave in the face of such wit?”
“Smile and keep patting.”
I’m sure no professional patter lives in fear that an accumulation of such micro-erotic experiences will endanger his orientation. Or the passenger’s.