Reagan National, 6:40 a.m. today. I opt-out of the humiliating back-scatter machine and ask for a pat-down. Once again, the TSA officers eye me suspiciously. "Wait here," one says. I wait, and wait some more. One obvious technique the TSA is using to funnel passengers through the back-scatter imager is to waste their time -- many people can't afford to wait five minutes for a pat-down, and will exchange the humiliation of the Federal Dick-Measurer for a speedier trip through security.

Eventually, I'm called over for my pat-down. "Do you want to do this privately?" he asks. "No, right here in the middle of the airport is fine," I say.

"The guidelines have changed, just to warn you. We now have to run our hands through your groin until we meet --"

"Resistance. Yes, I know," I say.

"Are any parts of your body sore?" he asks.

"No," I say, instantly regretting that I didn't say, "Yes. My groin. Very sore." Next time.

He feels me up. "Could you widen your stance, please?" he asks.

"Hey, I'm not in the United States Senate!" I say, widening my stance.