First There was the Fist Bump...

...now there is the crotch bump, brought to us courtesy of TSA.

Really.

The crotch bump.

If you haven’t experienced one yet, it’s a sweeping upward motion during the pat down that lands squarely up against one’s genitals. I am thinking the fact that it’s done with the back of the hand isn’t doing much for me.

In fact the whole front/back of hand thing is puzzling. I don’t quite get how the back of a hand is less invasive than the front of the hand. Touch is touch. Someone sweeping the backs of their hands across my boobs is the same to me as someone sweeping the back of their hands. I get that this is a sop to keep the offended amongst us from reaching a fever pitch of protest that they might have to respond to– but still.

A grope is a grope is a grope.

My very first crotch bump occurred here at the ‘Banks – right after they installed Captain Marvel’s magic ray machine (aka the full-body scanner). I figured it was an accident – the result of an over-zealous, slightly clumsy TSA’er unaccustomed to doing full-body pat downs.

But now, having endured crotch bumps at various airports across the US of A, I conclude that, like zip lock baggies and 3-ounce gels, it is here to stay. Yet another development in this whole crazed process that does nothing to enhance our safety, but does everything to keep us in our places.

As a related aside, I routinely opt out of stepping into Captain Marvel’s magic ray machine. I do this because, yes I travel a lot and no, I don’t believe that just because the government gives it its safety imprimatur, it truly is. But mostly I do it because it is the last crumbling vestige of choice or individuality I can exert going through the cattle chute that American air transportation has become.