Christine and Private McFeely � � � Tuesday, May. 20, 2003 * 00:54

I went to Fort Meade today to get my insurance straightened out. I currently have the "I'm almost cool because my husband is in the military" insurance, but I'm supposed to have the "I'm ghetto fabulous because my husband is serving in Operation Enduring Freedom and I don't have to pay for any doctor's visit ever again!" insurance.

When I approached the gate, and handed the MP my ID card, he and his buddy started snickering and informed me that my vehicle had randomly been chosen for inspection, and asked me would I please pull over into the tent and turn off my car. I took my card back, stared at him for a minute as if he had just asked me to lift my car off the ground with one hand, and pulled up there. My car was nice enough to stall on its own so I didn't have to turn the key. Thank you, car.

There were four guys standing in the tent, and they all just stood there staring at me. I finally yelled out the window, "What am I supposed to do here exactly?" and they told me to open all the doors, the trunk, the hood, the glove compartment, and the console, and get out. I sighed and said "Fine" and just to get a rise out of them I performed these tasks entirely from the inside of the car. I opened the passenger side doors from the inside with my right hand, and then the driver side doors with my left, twisting my arm back without turning around. I then opened all the compartments, the trunk and the hood the same way, from inside, and continued to sit there, fuming. The guy finally told me to really get out, so I did, and stood three inches from the car with no intention of budging.

One of the men proceeded to meticulously paw through every piece of paper in the backseat, including looking into my bag from Kinko's which contained something that I would really not have liked anyone to see except that person for whom it was intended, everything in the trunk, and then he told me to come over to the table and empty my pockets.

At this point I was in such an advanced stage of anger that I was veritably glaring at all of them, my face was flushed, and my legs were shaking in anticipation of the moment when I would kick them all in their stupid faces. I walked over to the table, turned my front coin pockets inside out revealing the nothing inside of them, and removed with much fanfare from my butt pockets one ticket stub from the Matrix and one piece of Winterfresh gum.

Serious contraband, folks. I know that Reloaded was outlawed in the 48 contiguous states, but I simply had to see it.

I said "That's all I've got in my pockets, as you can see." I was then instructed to approach the MP in charge of this farce, turn around so my back was facing him, and spread my arms out. I was then patted down for some moments, mainly on the ass, and waved with a lovely little wand that probably wasn't even turned on.

At this point, Private McFeely told me I was "all set to go," I retrieved my ticket stub, gum, and keys from the table, slammed the trunk and doors with such force as is required to power several city blocks, got into the car, started it, blasted Ticks and Leeches as loud as was tolerable to my delicate ears, peeled off, and gave them all the finger.

Random vehicle inspection, my ass. They just wanted to feel me up.