trust scanner

There was a single basket full of various belongings. I added mine to the pile unthinkingly – two important items – my keys and cellular phone. The officer nodded me along with a bored expression, a couple of people waiting ahead of me. Still, we were a small group. I joined the cleared few on the other side. A boisterous woman with a wide smile and loud laugh grabbed at the contents of our shared basket. When I reached toward it after she seemed done, she shouted, “What?! Why would you put your things in with mine?!” Mild dread licked at the bottom of my stomach. I don’t know. Inexperience with being checked for weapons or drugs? The officer watching, but never voicing different protocol? A simple mistake? All three. “It was a mistake. I rarely go through these things,” I answered her, my hands speaking for my nerves and eyes looking toward the officer, who was slightly perking up at our exchange. I gathered the keys up, twisting the lanyard about my fingers anxiously and stared at the nearly empty bin for a second. A frown etched its way across my hesitant features, “Excuse me, but I had a cellphone here.” The accusatory, slightly angry woman suddenly stiffened beside me, but made no move to leave. She placed one hand on her hip, and rested the other casually on the conveyor belt. The officer picked up the basket, rifled through its meager offerings, and blinked at me in silence. I cleared my throat, unnerved by the lack of vocal response, maintaining eye contact with the police officer, “I cannot find my cellphone. I placed it in the basket before stepping through the scanner.” Again, the woman ahead of me spoke. She turned to me and barked, “Are you sure you had a cellphone?” The frown deepened, defined itself more. “Yes,” I said firmly and stoically, “I had a cellphone in that basket.” The officer looked between us, watching a couple of others edge away from the awkward scene. His partner spoke up to the side of us, and we turned toward a confident, melodic order, “All right, then. Since everyone else is being so quiet, let’s stand off to the side and sort this out.” The woman repeated herself, “Hmmm, you sure you had a phone?” Why was she still standing here? No. I fabricated this entire scenario. The questions and sarcasm played on loop in my thoughts. “Yes, I definitely left a cellphone there. I could tell you the make, model, assigned phone number. We can call it, if you would like,” I softly muttered to suppress the growl that wanted to escape. Why did she ask me that again? The woman looked to either side, at both officers, and slowly withdrew my property from within her pocket. Internally, the spark of registered shock poked and prodded. A monster slithered through my veins, but I fought it down. Thankfully, my face held a neutral expression. The officers’ eyes widened, but their postures slackened. They would not accuse her of anything. She was being honest and there was no proof that she held intent for theft. I recovered the phone and not wanting my uncertain suspicions to betray tone, gave a simple nod in gratitude. An accident? Still possible. It is better to believe in the goodness and fallibility of humanity than to drudge up hard conclusions about a stranger. Reader, you can be certain that an unassuming bag will be placed into the scanner next time. The basket will never be used again.