I used to work security at the airport. A couple of years after 911, the TSA was formed to take over all airport security. When that happened, all of us that currently worked there basically had to be tested to see whether or not we were going to be kept on with the TSA. In the interest of expedience and organization, it was decided that all of the current employees would be checked out at once. Rooms were set up in a local hotel to act as testing facilities, and all of us were herded into said rooms over the course of a single afternoon.

One room was for vision testing (I passed with flying colors, no pun intended), one for hearing (I heard that), and one for other general questions. This room was of note only because one of the questions they ask, in a room full of fifteen or so people, is about your ethnicity. Bear in mind, it's not something I think about too often, as it really is of little consequence to me. So I matter-of-factly answered "mulatto". Apparently that's the wrong answer. The room went dead silent, and I really wish I'd had a camera to capture the gaping maws of the staff.

Anyway, the final room could be likened to the last dungeon in a video game. This final room was set up for the physical examinations. I'm not one for the doctor in the first place, but this was particularly disconcerting. When I first walk in, I hear the sounds of VPR (Vermont Public Radio) in the background, and suddenly I'm greeted by a rather attractive older woman. She would be the doctor examining me. Now, at first I thought "Score, it's a chick, there's no way she can give me a hernia test!". We'll come back to that thought later.

After asking me some preliminary questions, she instructed me to strip down to my shorts. Here's where the honesty comes in. I, in fact, am not a particularly attractive man. Nor am I at all comfortable enough with my body to be seen by a complete stranger (let alone an attractive woman) sans attire. Clearly having no choice, I did as instructed.

So there I sat, pert man-boobs quietly quivering as I imagine the horror which was most certainly consuming the doctor's mind. She does the usual reflex tests, breathing checks and and sinus investigations, while I attempt to avoid as much eye contact as possible. Eventually, I started to calm down a little, and just focused on the dulcet tones emanating from the radio. That seemed to be a good plan until...

At some point the music goes silent and a new song begins to play. No matter how made up this sounds, I promise you this to be true. The far away symphony played exactly the kind of music that arises when Indiana Jones is in trouble. At that moment the lovely lady doctor sits down in her chair and says, "Okay, it's time for your hernia test. Please remove your boxers". My jaw must have slammed into the floor at terminal velocity, and in my mind was consumed by arrows whizzing past my head, and the low rumble of a boulder rolling up behind me. Once a semblance of clarity returned to me, I uttered one incredibly stupid question.

"Seriously?"

So, down went my drawers, and up slid the doctor in her chair. Upon later reflection, I think the fear instilled in me by the orchestral atmosphere in the room was actually a blessing in disguise. It probably prevented any other far more embarrassing things from occurring.