I was visiting a shop with Danish friend N, when an officious female shopassistant asked for his ID. Because he was a foreigner I knew that this assistant was entitled to ask him for this. I was outraged and started complaining or rather making slightly dangerous fun as I stood to attention in line with another female assistant who did likewise. (The assistants were wearing either white or black aprons and uniforms.) There was an ambiguous atmosphere between flirting and indignation as somehow the other assistant and I became entwined. She was not complaining, my hand somehow caught between her apron and her breast.

Then I noticed that N was in a small metal cubicle. The first assistant was preparing her index finger with some gauze. I have to investigate his orifices she explained to me as again I voiced my complete indignation about the way N was being treated.