Flying Home...

“And for those of you in the back of the plane… frozen fish heads. Mmmm that’s exactly what I was hoping for, wishing upon a star!” Brian Regan

I find myself sitting in 30A on DL67 heading to ATL, arrival time, supposedly 2:35. Ha.

Thanks to the increase of assholes and decrease in safety in this world, all incoming American flights have more than tripled increased security. Last week some idiot decided to hide explosives in his underpants and attempted to take down his plane. Luckily he not only failed at life, but he failed at his mission. I mean, what kind of moron puts explosives in their underpants? “Excuse me Sir, is that dynamite in your pants? Or are you just excited to see me?” Yeah… not cool. But thanks to him, it was all over the news to expect increased security on all flights heading to American. We were told to be at the airport at least two hours in advance, so at 6AM (swiss time) or midnight EST, I woke up to a quiet Kirsten knock on my door. It’s time. Oh god, really? I’m not ready yet. I just got here.

When I arrived at the airport for my 9:40 flight I saw the longest airport check-in line I have ever seen. Thank goodness there was no snow on the ground! I was questioned for about 3 minutes by a delightful Swiss lady who didn’t seem to understand my humor, or why every answer ended in “Ma’am.” (I am from the south after all.) I finished my check-in, left my 23kg suitcase with them, and continued on to my family. Despite a few extra questions, I did not notice anything extreme thus far in security, other than the last line the security lady said to me: “After you finish checking in you must go directly to the gate.” With an hour and forty five minutes to spare before my flight, really? Wow.

Kirsten, Auntie, and Stefan walked me to passport control, where we said our goodbyes, exchanged a few hugs and kisses and “I love you’s.” For the record, it wasn’t until I turned my back from them that I started to tear up. Once through passport control I released a huge sigh, a few tears, and then began to realize I needed to pull myself together if I was going to get through the day.

I headed to Concourse E, Gate 27. I was stopped at another passport control where the gentleman looked at me, could tell I recently had tears wallowing in my eyes, stamped my passport, and wished me safe travels. Then came security. Take off your shoes, your coat, your scarf. Take your camera out of your bag, your laptop out of your bag, your toiletries out of your bag. Walk through the metal detector. Beep! Beep!

What in the world is on me that could be beeping?! I’m wearing jeans, a tank top, a sweater, and underwear of course, and yeah, socks. With nothing in my pockets and only wearing cheap jewelry, I began to figure them out. They must have increased the sensitivity of the machines. They whisked me away to a little cubicle made out of white sheets, leaving my laptop, purse, and everything just lying out there. It wasn’t the search that made me mad. Go ahead, search me. If it will make everyone safer, by all means, do what you gotta do. But to make me leave my stuff sitting out for anyone to pick up my shiny macbook? You have to be kidding me.

The lady, thank goodness, had to feel me down. My arms, my back, my chest, between my boobs, my stomach, my upper inner thighs (about as upper as you can get before you need to exchange phone numbers), all the way down to my ankles. Then came the hand held detector. It beeped at every button on my jeans, every piece of jewelry I was wearing, and even for my bra. To make me think about this a bit more, I wore the same jeans here and was not beeped at once. When she was finished, I didn’t know what to say, so I just looked at her and said “Thanks” and ran out to grab my computer before someone else did.

I kept walking, thinking that would be the end of it. When I got to my gate I saw yet another line. We had to get in line to go through another security check. They were checking every single bag that was going on the plane, and every single person, whether you were frisked at the prior security stop or not. I was standing there when this gentleman from the line pointed to me and said “You, come up here!” I looked behind me, and then looked back. He was still pointing at me. I replied with a meek “Me?” Yep, he was talking to me. I was pushed to the front of the line and couldn’t figure out why. Then I realized, they brought out two females to search the ladies and two gentlemen to search the dudes. How thoughtful of them. I handed over my bags and spread my arms and legs. She felt me up, in all of the same places, in front of everyone. Lovely.

After being cleared I moved on to a roped off area that I wasn’t allowed to leave, not even to go to the bathroom. They really thought this through when they only had about 40 seats for a flight that was completely full. People were cramming into this tiny quarantined area wondering “What now?” At 8:40 some of us began boarding the plane for our 9:40 flight while the rest of us waited in line to be frisked, again.

At 9:40 everyone made it on board, with more carry-on luggage than I have ever seen in my life. I give it less than six months before we are all only allowed one purse or satchel or man purse to carry with us.

The plane began it’s journey down the runway, slowly putzing along. And then we heard the pilot. Cue the Brian Regan pilot voice. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a mechanical failure. It won’t affect the flight, but it is something that we need to go back and have fixed. Plus we need to fill out some paperwork. Thanks for your patience. I don’t think this will take too long.”

At 11:03 we finally took off, a little behind schedule. But hey, I am supposed to have a five-hour layover in Atlanta, so I sit here or I sit there. Either way I guess.

It was definitely an interesting morning, which made me think back to all of the changes we have experienced in air travel. Do you remember when people could smoke on flights? Or when you could walk your friends and family all the way to their gate when they were departing? Or just the same, when you arrived, and immediately walked off the flight and your family was standing there waiting for you at the gate! Or when my aunt would pack up a lunch and a thermos of her delicious tea for me to take on my 9 hour flight home? Or when we didn’t think it was weird to take our shoes off for security checks? Or when luggage was included in your ticket? Or when we didn’t look for “suspicious passengers” in the check-in line? I wonder if a day will come when we all look back and say “Remember when we could travel in our clothes, and not these orange jumpsuits they make us change into?”