The City County Building

As part of Domestic Adoption Dance Party 2006, we've been required by the great state of Indiana to have background checks done in every county we've lived in during the past five years. Luckily this is only two counties so it's not so much of a hassle. But if they'd asked me to do this in 2000, I'd be doing some serious travling. In an effort to fulfill this request in a timely fashion, Erin and I headed to the City County Building to get our checks done for Marion County, better known to the rest of the world as the city of Indianapolis. Now there are few places on planet Earth where you feel more like a criminal than the City County Building. This building houses many of the city courts for Indianapolis, and it's adjacent to the jail, so it's not exactly a debutante ball.

In our post-9/11 universe, the first thing you encounter as you enter the door is a row of metal detectors and airport-style baggage scanners. This is accompanied by a woman with a voice to make Ethel Merman proud shouting "Remove all coats and belts, and remove all objects from your pockets." No sweat. We stood in line watching people get scanned, poked, and prodded by the security team, and finally, the line reached the girl in front of us. She pealed off her coat and threw it on the conveyor belt. She then tossed her purse on the conveyor. At this point, the process stopped.

"Mam, you can't take that in there."
"What choo talkin' 'bout?"
"Your purse."
"What about it?"
"The handle is a handcuff. You can't take that in there."

Shore 'nough. The girl had a pink purse which featured the adorning glow of a silver handcuff as part of the strap. She pleaded that the cuff was fake, but it made no difference. We chuckled to ourselves about this incident, and I silently wondered why I'd never dated any girls who brought their own handcuffs, but we fully expected to move right on through the process in no time flat.

I went first. I threw my belt, change, and coat on the conveyor. Right on through. No sweat. Next up -- the wife.

"Ma'am, you'll need to remove your necklace."
"Ok, here ya go."
"Ma'am, this is too long."
"No, actually it's very nice. It hangs just low enough to look sophisticated, but..."
"No, it's too long to take in."
"Really? You're serious?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Can I leave it with you?"
"Yes, but we get to keep it."
"Can I hide it in the bushes?"
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, ma'am."

At this point, my wife returned to our car, several blocks away, to put away her necklace. Now, what I don't understand is this. They let me enter the building with my belt, and the circumference of my waist is much greater than that of my wife's neck (if this isn't true in your family, God bless you). Therefore I can't see how her flimsy little jewelry is more dangerous than my leather belt, but common sense has escaped us in these times.

The rest of the fingerprinting was uneventful, except for the fact that you can't actually take the background check with you. You have to go back a day later to pick it up, thus getting to experience the City County Building for a second time. And this just covers one of the two counties...I'm sure the other county will be an adventure as well.