RailsConf 2006: A Bag of Squishy Cows is a Bag of Trouble

Pictured below is the inside of my knapsack as it appeared in the late morning on Thursday, June 22nd. The cute little creatures within are Tucows’ most popular pieces of swag: the beloved Squishy Cows. They fit quite comfortably in most adult hands and have a very lovely “give” to them.

I never thought these lovely creatures would ever get me into trouble, but the almost did that Thursday, while I was at the security gate at Accordion City International Airport.

“Excuse me, sir,” said lady behind the x-ray machine as my stuff emerged from its innards. “You’ve been selected for a random security check. Could you please collect your things and follow me over here?”

“Sure,” I said. Luckily, I wasn’t pressed for time. In fact, I had plenty of time to kill, as a storm that morning meant that the plane I was going to fly was still grounded in Chicago.

They opened the accordion case first, ooh-ing and aah-ing at it. They asked if it was an antique, and I explained that it wasn’t. It’s just that accordion makers are hardcore traditionalists and like that “old school” look.

What really got her attention were the Squishy Cows in my knapsack.

“Ooooh!” she squealed. “It’s so cuuuuuute!”

She turned aside for a moment and summoned a man in uniform. As he approached, he started putting on surgical gloves.

In the meantime, a couple of women in security company outfits came over to see what the squealing was about.

“Look!” said the security woman, “a cow!”. She held it up for her co-workers to see.

“Awwwww….” said one of the other women, who pulled another cow out of my knapsack. The other women gathered around to gape at the cows.

“Come with me, sir,” said the man, leading me away from the area.

“Why? What about my stuff?”

“Come. With. Me,” he said, a little more forcefully, reaching for my arm.

“Excuse me…” I said to the women, deep in a Squishy Cow-induced fugue state. “EX-CUSE ME!”

“Oh,” said the woman who initiated the search. She stopped the security man and said “No, no, no, not that kind. Waist-up search only.“

Jesus Christ, I thought, “waist-up?!”

“Are you sure?” he asked, with what sounded like a tone of disappointment.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again.

“Yes. Waist. Up.“

With a sigh that seemed to say “Denied the fingerbang again!, he asked me to spread my arms wide and proceeded to do a waist-up search.

And with the end of the search, my anal sovereignty remained intact. I took my knapsack and zipped it up before the cows could cause any more trouble.

(By the way, I didn’t coin the phrase “anal sovereignty”. Jon Rosenberg, author of the webcomic Goats, was the clever mind behind that gem.)