Officer Ricardo, a perceptive fellow Italian-American, sartorially profiles me and seizes my luggage. As he begins to rummage, I initiate some small talk in order to demonstrate that I am but an unassuming TSA-fearing tax-payer.

“So, which algorithm do you use to determine whom to detain?”, I inquire. He briefly suspends rummaging, presumably to determine whether it’s strategically worth it to trade his proprietary algorithm with me in exchange for rapport. I realize that asking for information without offering any of my own may be a social faux pas, so I continue, “I recommend using the 1/e law of best choice. Simply skip the first 37% of passengers, then choose the next most suspicious person.”

No bite. Hastily regaining an undaunted countenance, he begins an inquiry of his own.

“Did anyone ask you to bring anything back for them?”, he probes. “No.” However, in plain view is a gift-wrapped two-dimensional item my aunt asked me to bring back for her. “What’s in here, then?”, he presses. “Swiss chocolate”, I predict.

“Did you go to any other countries besides the UK while traveling?”, continues the inquisition. “Switzerland. I’ve been trying to monetize my Swiss citizenship. If a woman deigned to betroth herself to me she would be eligible for the fifth and tenth most powerful passports according to the Henley Index. Oh yeah, I went to Scotland too!”

“Do you live here in Boston?”, asks Officer Ricardo as he uncovers my mobile pharmacy, a pair of conspicuously unlabeled tupperwares filled to the brim with arcane contraband. “I live in San Francisco.”

The officer’s countenance once again appears bewildered as he inspects the collection. My recently accrued social prowess allows me to recognize when people need some reassurance. “The most potent compounds in the pharmacy are stimulants and antidepressants.” His worries assuaged, he tells me, “Ah, alright. I just wanted to make sure there isn’t MDMA or anything like that.” I reassure him once more, “Oh, no, don’t worry! I’ve already upskilled in extroversion — there’s no need for MDMA.” Officer Ricardo breathes a deep sigh of what is plausibly relief.

After returning my pharmacy to its pouch unscathed, the intrepid officer steels himself to conclude his investigation. “What do you do for work?”. “I work on AI”. “Where?”, he demands with unwavering resolve.

“I work on AI in San Francisco.”

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