boarding pass to the attendant. She swiped it and
gave it back.
I walked down the
jet-way and entered the small airplane which only seated about forty
passengers.
The Arab fellow
had not yet boarded the plane and I wondered if he was being grilled yet again.
My seat was at the
extreme rear of the aircraft and I put my carry-on bag in the small overhead
rack just above my aisle seat.
All the passengers
had now gotten settled except for the chap I had spoken with. There was still
no sign of him.
The sole flight
attendant gave her short safety spiel and then announced that we would be
taking off shortly.
Finally the Arab
gentleman appeared and strode down the aisle while the passengers no doubt were
examining him closely and wondering if he could be trouble.
He continued right
to the rear of the plane and indicated to me that his seat was by the window
beside me.
I stood up and
stepped into the aisle to permit him to get to his seat. I noticed that he no
longer had his carry-on bag with him.
“Where’s your
bag?” I asked.
“They insisted on
searching it thoroughly again at the gate and then advised that it was too
large to be taken on the plane as a carry-on. I was forced to check it. My
protestations were all in vain. They wouldn’t even allow me to bring my laptop
or cell phone onto the plane. It was most infuriating.”
“I think you’ve
got a valid point,” I responded. “Your bag didn’t look any larger than mine and
if I owned a laptop or a cell phone, I certainly wouldn’t want the things out
of my sight. Those devices contain way too much personal information.”
“There appears to
be something much more invasive than normal going on today,” the gentleman
opined. “You wouldn’t believe the detailed questions I was asked at the
security check. I had no idea what information the agents were trying to
extract from me. Their questions jumped from one subject to another with
seemingly no continuity. Because of my swarthy complexion, they must believe
that I’m a terrorist working for ISIS.”
“Who knows if they
even know how to think? I’m just a retired lawyer heading to Las Vegas for a vacation,”
I said. “At the US border all the customs guard asked was how long I was going
to be in the USA and where I was heading. I could have been smuggling in a
trunk load of rocket launchers. At the airport security check here, they didn’t
ask me a single question. They just briefly glanced at my passport. Are you
travelling on business?”
“Yes, so I suppose
that some additional probing of the purpose of my trip to America might be
warranted, but I flew in to New York City from Riyadh a week ago. That would
have been the appropriate time to question the nature of my trip so intensely.”
“That would make
more sense,” I responded. “The security folks have certainly devised some
ingenious ways of making air travel close to intolerable.”
The fellow smiled.
“If you’re
beginning to experience that as an innocent tourist, then you can imagine how
horrid the process of air travel has been rendered for the likes of me. The
looks of suspicion that I receive wherever I travel in this country would make
you believe that I’ve got a bomb hidden in my undergarments.”
“I’m sure the
security bozos would never discover an actual bomb,” I said jokingly. “They’re
too busy looking for illegal drugs to detect any real threat.”
Just then the
plane began moving and within two minutes we were cleared for takeoff and were up
in the air.
My seating
companion closed his eyes and never opened them again until the plane touched
down at Washington Dulles International Airport ninety minutes later.
“Have we arrived
already?” he remarked. “I must have dozed off. That was certainly the quickest
flight I’ve ever had. Please forgive my rudeness in falling asleep during our
conversation. I had no idea that I was so exhausted.”
“That’s quite all right.
My next flight to Las Vegas
gave it back.
I walked down the
jet-way and entered the small airplane which only seated about forty
passengers.
The Arab fellow
had not yet boarded the plane and I wondered if he was being grilled yet again.
My seat was at the
extreme rear of the aircraft and I put my carry-on bag in the small overhead
rack just above my aisle seat.
All the passengers
had now gotten settled except for the chap I had spoken with. There was still
no sign of him.
The sole flight
attendant gave her short safety spiel and then announced that we would be
taking off shortly.
Finally the Arab
gentleman appeared and strode down the aisle while the passengers no doubt were
examining him closely and wondering if he could be trouble.
He continued right
to the rear of the plane and indicated to me that his seat was by the window
beside me.
I stood up and
stepped into the aisle to permit him to get to his seat. I noticed that he no
longer had his carry-on bag with him.
“Where’s your
bag?” I asked.
“They insisted on
searching it thoroughly again at the gate and then advised that it was too
large to be taken on the plane as a carry-on. I was forced to check it. My
protestations were all in vain. They wouldn’t even allow me to bring my laptop
or cell phone onto the plane. It was most infuriating.”
“I think you’ve
got a valid point,” I responded. “Your bag didn’t look any larger than mine and
if I owned a laptop or a cell phone, I certainly wouldn’t want the things out
of my sight. Those devices contain way too much personal information.”
“There appears to
be something much more invasive than normal going on today,” the gentleman
opined. “You wouldn’t believe the detailed questions I was asked at the
security check. I had no idea what information the agents were trying to
extract from me. Their questions jumped from one subject to another with
seemingly no continuity. Because of my swarthy complexion, they must believe
that I’m a terrorist working for ISIS.”
“Who knows if they
even know how to think? I’m just a retired lawyer heading to Las Vegas for a vacation,”
I said. “At the US border all the customs guard asked was how long I was going
to be in the USA and where I was heading. I could have been smuggling in a
trunk load of rocket launchers. At the airport security check here, they didn’t
ask me a single question. They just briefly glanced at my passport. Are you
travelling on business?”
“Yes, so I suppose
that some additional probing of the purpose of my trip to America might be
warranted, but I flew in to New York City from Riyadh a week ago. That would
have been the appropriate time to question the nature of my trip so intensely.”
“That would make
more sense,” I responded. “The security folks have certainly devised some
ingenious ways of making air travel close to intolerable.”
The fellow smiled.
“If you’re
beginning to experience that as an innocent tourist, then you can imagine how
horrid the process of air travel has been rendered for the likes of me. The
looks of suspicion that I receive wherever I travel in this country would make
you believe that I’ve got a bomb hidden in my undergarments.”
“I’m sure the
security bozos would never discover an actual bomb,” I said jokingly. “They’re
too busy looking for illegal drugs to detect any real threat.”
Just then the
plane began moving and within two minutes we were cleared for takeoff and were up
in the air.
My seating
companion closed his eyes and never opened them again until the plane touched
down at Washington Dulles International Airport ninety minutes later.
“Have we arrived
already?” he remarked. “I must have dozed off. That was certainly the quickest
flight I’ve ever had. Please forgive my rudeness in falling asleep during our
conversation. I had no idea that I was so exhausted.”
“That’s quite all right.
My next flight to Las Vegas
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