PROFILED

     The first time it happened, I thought it was probably a value-added service, perhaps courtesy of our amazing travel agent, Christina.  We were "pre-cleared" for security on our flight to Peru.  Sweet!  We sailed to the head of the serpentine of folks pulling out their belts, taking off their shoes.  Of course, I know that I will cause the alarm to sound when I pass through the detecter, and always will, because of the two titanium knees on which I walk around.  So, the usual procedure in which I'm diverted to the body-scanning machine occurred, my picture was taken and I was free to go.  Same for Larry with his titanium joints as well.  Thank you Portland for having this option.
     Last week, on our way to Hawaii, no pre-clearance.  So my theory about the travel agent held up, as   daughter-in-law Caroline had booked the flight, and so far as I know, she has no standing with TSA.  Fine. Through the body scanner and welcome on board.
     Oh, but coming home from Hawaii?  Here's what happened:  First, as you all surely know, you have to pass your suitcases through a fruit-detecting scanner on leaving the islands.  You will have already secured your boarding passes in advance of this step, and then you proceed to the security line.  To my amazement, the guard there took my boarding pass, my driver's license, and marked a large red check across the pass.  "You're pre-cleared," she said.  "You don't have to take off your shoes or jackets.  You don't need your ID any longer, just hold up this pass.  Like this," she said, illustrating the maneuver, a bit unnecessarily I thought, as I did understand the directive.
     But okay.  There is no line at all, so Larry and I step up to the metal detector, holding up the passes to show the bright red check mark, a sort of get-home-free card, apparently.  Of course I know that I  will set off the machine, and the usual routine transpires.
     "Female assist!" shouts the guard.  I am ushered into a little cage to await whatever female can be freed from her other duties to pat me down.  A very nice-seeming, but quite business-like woman retrieves me and asks me to sit down over there on the left.
     I sit.  Now the fun begins.  "Are you able to take off your own shoes?" she politely asks.
     "Yes," I reply, and bend to the task.  Take off my own shoes?  The light is dawning.  That red check?  
     "Are you able to stand unassisted for several minutes?"
     Seriously??  "Yes,"  I say.  I know my face is flushing.  What?  Didn't she just see me standing unassisted in the cage?  But now I have to channel my inner sister, Mary, who is able to face every challenge life throws at her with calm dignity.  Put up with this, I counsel myself.  The woman is only doing her job.  Keeping us all safe.  "And no, thank you, I don't need to remove to a private space for this operation," I tell her.  Calmly.
     I put up with it.  Being infantilized.  I have become accustomed to being addressed as "hon" and "dear" by various waiters, clerks, baristas.  I'm okay with that, although I always roll my eyes at Larry, who does not suffer this treatment.  But now that I understand the source of the "pre-clearance," of the red check on my boarding pass, I'll have to find another way to feel celebratory about this scarlet letter.  OLD PERSON HERE!  MAKE WAY!
     The day will come, I understand this, when I won't be able to take off my own shoes or stand unassisted.  There.  I can celebrate the fact that the day has not yet arrived.