I used to love to travel by airplane. The magic of flight delighted me. The mystery and possibility of airports and the myriad exotic destinations to which they were the gateway enchanted me. The patterns of civilization or nature seen from above appealed to me both for both their beauty and their meaning.
These pleasures have been significantly diminished since September 11 of last year. I'm writing this on my shuttle flight back to DC. As we boarded, I found myself giving my fellow passengers the once-over. Hmm, there's a blond young man in a yellow t-shirt with Hebrew lettering on it. Hmm, there's a young Muslim woman, covered, with a huge black backpack. Say, why does that tall guy in the olive shirt keep getting up and going to the back of the plane? And what's up with the man with the French/Algerian accent who boarded the plane at the last minute after swapping his ticket?
I hate looking at other people with suspicion.
I hate wondering which would be more damaging, an explosion in the back of the plane or over the midsection by the wings, where I'm sitting.
As I was browsing in the bookstore before boarding, the news on the radio informed us that many baggage checkers in airports had a total of 15 minutes of training, and that the FBI had just taken a woman into custody in Texas who had completed one leg of her travels with a loaded .375 magnum in her carry-on luggage. Well, isn't that special!
Is that man who waited and watched us all line up and get on the plane an air marshall? I hope so, because if he isn't, his scrutiny was hardly welcome.
Write to me!
