Journeyman
A Journal for the Inquiring Christian

Vol. 1, No. 2, November 2001 Flying the Friendly Skies Overview: Don't worry, we're safe. The friendly folk at the airlines aren't going to let Artie hijack your plane, or sneak an over-sized brief case into the overhead luggage compartment. by Artie Megibben The airlines are taking good care of you. Honestly. Airline travel is back to normal. The planes are full and the airports are teaming with long lines of passengers. Of course, for the frequent business flier, there are a few tradeoffs. Take my flight this weekend to New York. "Only one carry-on bag, sir," said the airline agent. "Excuse me?" "Only one carry-on, sir. It's a new rule." "One carry-on and a briefcase is the new rule," I corrected her. "That is not a briefcase," she corrected me. In truth, it's a leather shoulder bag that I use as a briefcase. But that distinction was getting me nowhere. Hours later, having survived the gauntlet of new security procedures and being relieved of my extraneous luggage, I sat at my gate examining my fingernails. Suddenly, I discovered that thing that strikes more fear into the heart of a frequent flier than the thought of a hijacking: A hangnail! You see, the first casualty in America's War on Terrorism was the nail clipper. Mine was confiscated four business trips ago. Suddenly, I heard my name being paged. "Passenger Megibben, please come to the counter." This could mean only one thing. Because of an "oversold situation" I was being upgraded to first class. After all, I'm not just a frequent flier, I am an Executive Platinum frequent flier. Trying not to sound too smug, I approached the counter. "I'm Passenger Megibben." "Mr. Megibben," said the serious-faced gate agent, "Your name has been flagged for a high-alert screening. Please step over here." "Over here" signified a woman with green rubber gloves who asked me to empty my pockets and open my bag. It's not a bag, it's a briefcase. As the other passengers boarded the flight, they passed me in hushed disbelief, this business executive who stood there spread-eagle for the green-gloved woman. Then — I saw it on their faces — this multi-hued assortment of New Yorkers with exotic accents and musical names like Abu and Mohamed — they could see they were safe! The system was working! The skies were again secure! For this suspicious-looking, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, middle-aged business flier had been taught his lesson: "Don't even think about messing with America."