Getting Fingerprinted
Investigate my life, O God,
find out everything about me;
Cross-examine and test me,
get a clear picture of what I’m about;
See for yourself whether I’ve done anything wrong—
then guide me on the road to eternal life. (Psalm 139:23-24)
I got fingerprinted a couple of weeks ago…by a machine…with an invisible person. I could have driven the length of Kansas in the time it took. Okay, that was an exaggeration…but barely!
Although the fingerprinting wasn’t for a crime I had committed, it felt like I was being punished in a futuristic, AI-driven George Orwell 1984 sequel. The other victims were getting lined up behind me as I was told to go to “The Machine.” The Machine resembles an arcade Pac-Man game: you stand in front of it, like you’re facing an Army Drill Sergeant after morning reveille. The inspection begins immediately: Is this my Face? What’s my address? Phone? Birthdate? Social Security Number? Name of my 3rd-grade teacher? Do I drive a foreign car? Have I ever been convicted of a crime? Do I eat white bread or sourdough? When was my last colonoscopy? Is my hair its natural color? Who did I vote for in the 2008 Presidential Election?
I shifted my position once and caused The Machine to give me a warning. Disciplinary action was possible. The Machine Screen told me to place my right hand on a pad that looked suspicious, as if its purpose was to determine if you were telling the truth or not, and was ready to give you an electric shock to straighten up your ways. Like a sheep being led to slaughter, I placed my hand on the pad of repentance.
“Do not move your hand!” The Machine non-verbally instructed me. “Make sure none of your fingers are touching the metal frame around the pad.” I eased them into position. “Keep them in place until you are instructed to move them.”
I waited…and waited. Finally: “Incomplete. Place your right fingers on the pad.” I carefully placed my digits as instructed, with the ludicrous idea that if I was more careful it would make the difference.
Success…in a way. “Wait for your proctor to approve your fingerprints. Do not touch the keyboard.”
I stepped back, wondering if this machine had been invented by the TSA as a test project. Maybe sometime soon there won’t be real people doing the security at the airport check-in either. I stared at the wording on the screen. Was my invisible proctor on a coffee break? It was getting close to five o’clock. The thought occurred to me, “What happens if it hits 5:00 and I’m only right fingerprinted? Will I have to start over again. What if my proctor is a smoker and decides he’s done for the day? Will I have to stand here until Monday morning?”
Finally, the screen changes and instructs me to place my left-hand fingers on the pad. I repeat the process, holding my breath as an image of my fingerprints comes on the screen. I took that as a good sign.
It wasn’t. The “Incomplete” wording appears again, with even more stern warnings about “Doing It Correctly!” Repeat the waiting. Repeat the “Wait for your half-interested proctor to inflict more frustration on your Friday late afternoon!”
I was fearfully and wonderfully made, but not so much for The Machine. I was just another incomplete, uninteresting, yawn-producing set of ten fingers to this Robo Cop.
And for that hemorrhoid-producing experience, I got to use my credit card and be charged $57.50. The Machine made me wait for the proctor’s approval for that, too. I wanted to complain, but who would have listened?
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