Dear reader,

Your humble, dedicated servant, the plasticgraduate has had the most humiliating experience on a recent flight.

I was called to help a young woman in distress and once again the plastimobile was in the shop. (Note to self: next time when somebody says to buy a car with a horse on it, get a Mustang, not a Pinto.)

So, I took a flight on a reputable airline. As part of my crime monitoring duties, I religiously read the TSA blog and follow the FBI Twitterfeed (Don't be fooled by these hooligans) so I consider myself aware of security and terrorism threats. I dutifully placed all my liquids in little bottles in little ziploc bags. My crimefighting gear was mailed ahead of me and waiting at the hotel. All was good.

I proceeded to the gate and went to go through the security screening. I removed my shoes, put them in a bin and walked through the metal detector. Because of the risk of fungal infection, I applied Purell to my feet after passing through the detector but was pulled for a secondary inspection.

My heart was racing. Had my true identity been discovered? Did they find my cape and tights in my carry-on and have questions?

No, apparently I was pulled for a TSA rectal exam because of the Saudi ass bomber. And, no, for those of you snickering, this was not pleasant.

Back in the day, I could have been arrested for paying for this service.

Now it just feels like the TSA is a cheap date. I literally did this for peanuts. I didn't even get dinner or a movie.

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