Handcuffs

On the way to a new job, I was stopped by security at the courthouse today after my purse went through the machine.

“Miss, are you law enforcement?”

“No,” I replied, slightly offended.

“Do you have …handcuffs in your purse?”

“Oh yeah!” I’d forgotten about them. I laughed.

“Can I see them?” As he spoke I pulled them out of my purse, two pieces of metal cuffs joined by a leather strap. Definitely not the handcuffs of a police officer. “Wa–Why…” the security stuttered. He blushed. “I mean, it doesn’t matter why. Let me… check if it’s on the list of [restricted] items.”

It was not on the list. He allowed me to proceed.

They had come in handy before, when a friend of mine forgotten her bike lock. “I can’t find my bike lock I wish I’d had something else on me like rope or–”

I’d pulled the handcuffs out of my purse. “How about these?”

She stared.

“What?” I’d asked defensively. “I needed them.”

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