Reflections on being fingerprinted

THIS IS A MAKEUP BLOG POST.

I am studying abroad in the Spring, and for part of my Visa application I have to get an FBI background check. This required me to get fingerprinted, which I did today at the Collegeville Police Dept. When I arrived at the building I was told by the secretary to knock on the police door. Inside there was a detective, in plainclothes and an officer in uniform. I explained that I needed to be fingerprinted. The detective was on the phone, and told me to have a seat in the waiting room. I wasn't sitting for more than 30 seconds, when the officer came out and told me to come with him, he said that I didn't need to wait, he would fingerprint me. 

We went into the room, and the detective reappeared. He said that he would do my fingerprints, and the officer agreed, saying that the detective was better at it anyway. I have two tattoos on my left hand (ring and middle finger), and the detective asked me what they were. Without thinking, I replied, "prison tattoos". As soon it came out of my mouth I realized how inappropriate that is to say while getting fingerprinted, but the detective was already cracking up, he thought it was hysterical. 

Throughout the process, he remarked and kept remarking that my hands were sweating (they were--I had my winter coat on, and I was nervous too; I'd never been fingerprinted). He also made some comment about how I must be an alright kid since I'm a junior and have never met him. He also confessed to being the "bad cop". You know--cop humor. 

After the fingerprinting, we went pack into the room with the officer. I noticed that he was watching something that looked like an instructional video about testing and bagging drug evidence. A pair of gloved hands were shown sealing a joint in a small plastic bag. As the detective made a photo copy of my fingerprint card. He told the officer,"Look how much she was sweating! Look at her, she's nervous... I'll bet she's carrying dope!" They both laughed raucously like it was the funniest thing they'd heard all day.

Leaving the station, all I could think was: He never would have made that comment if I was a black man.

I reflected on the whole experience. The fact that I walked in there with a backpack, and the fact that I was sweating were all potentially suspect things.

I COULD have had "dope" in my backpack-- but since I am a white woman, this possibility seemed so ludicrous to the officers, so hysterically funny, that they did not even entertain it.