In the late 1960s when sky marshalls flew on American planes, I had long hair. (Hell, I had HAIR, and it was 'alf way to me arse'.) I was asked by one of the security people if I had any weapons on me. I told him that that was a stupid question, because if I did I'd say no and if I didn't I'd say no. I suggested he search me. He ignored the pen from my shirt pocket (a pen through the temple or into the eye will kill or debilitate); he ignored the comb from my back pocket (used knife-like it will slit a throat); he ignored the keys from my pocket (used protruding through the fingers of a closed fist they will puncture or blind). Anyway, they let me put all that stuff back in my pockets and board the plane.

You can make something foolproof, but ya can't make something damned-fool proof. (Thank you Mr Twain.)

Oh, yeah. I was 'profiled'. I tend to think it was because I had long hair. Go figger.