Fingerprints

According to Wikipedia, that font of veracity, the Koala is the only mammal, other than the primate, who share fingerprints as a distinguishing characteristic unique to each individual of the species. To my knowledge, the Koala can't sew on a button or play Chopin on the piano, so I still feel superior.

About a year ago we received a notice from Homeland Security that we were scheduled to be fingerprinted on a particular day. We were to arrive at the Homeland Security offices in Seatac, Washington at 8:00 a.m. sharp. Unfortunately, we had already made plans to be in Mexico that week. Curiously enough, the office that mailed the notice was located in Yakima, Washington. All scheduling inquiries were to be made through that office.

For those of you unfamiliar with Washington State, Yakima is in Eastern Washington, and it is nothing but farm land. The Western half of the state is wet and green, and the Eastern half of the state is arid and brown. Except where irrigation has been constructed. The Western and the Eastern halves of the state are divided by the Cascade Mountains. Calling Yakima to arrange a fingerprinting appointment to take place near Seattle seemed like calling your great aunt Noreen who you haven't seen in thirty years to ask her where your husband put the scissors. But I phoned the number as instructed. A nice lady changed our appointment time no problem.

The Homeland Security building is clearly constructed and designed for people for whom English is not their first language. After entering the double doors, nothing was in view except a bank teller-type of window where a security guard directed people to the correct line. Several lines were positioned throughout the building, and each person received a ticket depending upon the type of fingerprinting or authorization that person was receiving.

We waited in uncomfortable chairs for about twenty minutes and my husband's number was called first. Mine was called about ten minutes later, and my then five-year old went with me into a large, sterile looking room containing the fingerprinting equipment. I expected my fingertips to be inked black and rolled on a piece of card stock, but apparently that method of fingerprinting hasn't been used for awhile. Rather, state of the art digital imaging equipment is used.

A nice lady cleaned off the fingers and thumbs of each hand with rubbing alcohol, then she grabbed the thumb of my right hand first, rolling it around on piece of glass that looks just like the scanner in a supermarket. My thumbprint showed up on a screen at eye-level, but the word,"match" kept popping onto the screen until, apparently she scanned my thumbprint in such a way as to not illicit the "match" prompt. This process she repeated for eight fingers and two thumbs. While it took my husband only a few minutes to be fingerprinted, it took me about twenty. The nice lady fingerprinting me finally brought someone over and they mumbled something to one another about "A-12" or "Piece-image" or something, but I have no idea what they were talking about.

I remain concerned that all the "match" prompts might inconvenience me in some way. For example, what if I am minding my own business, chopping firewood in my knickers in front of Safeway, when I am suddenly whisked away by federal authorities because they suspect I am the master mind in the latest round of casino heists? Should I be concerned about this? I think so too.