I USED TO LOVE to fly. As a teen I was in Civil Air Patrol and got to ride in single-engine two seaters (Aronica Champions). I also spent time riding USAF C-119 Flying Boxcars and a luxurious Lockheed Super Constellation. As a young adult, I took flying lessons on a Piper J-3.
As a reporter, my favorite uncle (Sam) invited me to join an excursion to Yieques Island (Puerto Rico) in January; my ride down was in an Air Force version of a Boeing 707. I rode in an Army helicopter and Navy float plane before boarding a DC-3 back to the mainland. Somewhere along the line I found my new “favorite” plane, a Lockheed L-1011 tri-jet and I enjoyed commuter flights in low-flying twin-engine high wing prop jobs. I really loved to fly.
But over the years, thanks to terrorists, TSA at U.S. airports and similar inspections everywhere else, I’ve come to dislike air travel.
Never mind being stuffed into a cigar tube for “n” hours, rebreathing re-breathed air and eating — if food is served at all — meals that, although warmed, are little better than the box lunches I suffered on my first flight as a 10-year-old in a twin-engine tail-dragger.
Note wheel beneath airplane's tail, ergo "tail dragger>"
When I went to Israel in 1975 I had two full size duffle bags. When I checked in with the El Al security guy he asked the usual questions: Did I pack the bags myself? (Yes). Where they in my possession all the time? (Yes) No machines, just profiling.
Now, I have to check my bag (singular) at the ticket counter and watch it go off, unlocked, to the bowels of the airport to be xrayed and possibly pawed over by people I can’t see before being loaded onto carts by more people I cannot see, then transported to the aircraft and stowed by still more people I don’t know.
Meanwhile, my passport and boarding pass is checked by a TSA clerk, I am obliged to take off jacket, shoes, and, often, my belt and empty my pockets into a tray. A separate tray carries my laptop and smart phone.
I am then told to surrender my metal cane and to step into a machine, but told not to hold on to anything — exceedingly difficult for a person who uses a cane to ambulate from Point A to Point B. (At one non-U.S. airport I was given a wooden cane to use as I was “scanned.” That worked for me.)
While I am being scanned, my worldly possessions are out of (my) sight, but not out of my mind.
Will I get to the trays as they exit their scanner or will someone “relieve” me of my stuff — including wallet, passports, electronic gear, etc. before I can get to the conveyor belt on which my two trays are traveling?
I realize the cartoon is not “politically correct” today
as it may have been when published June 9, 2015.
Once past TSA, I retrieve my stuff and put on whatever I had to take off and head to the gate where I am to meet my flight.
From the TSA check until I arrive at my final destination I am in what is humorously known as a “sanitary area.”
Meanwhile, the bag I surrendered at the ticket counter is having who knows what done to it. Did someone put something into my bag? It’s possible.
The plane pulls up to the jetway. As I wait to board I watch as cleaning crews and caterer personnel enter and exit the aircraft.
Were these people screened? When? Today? When they were hired? How good are the background checks for baggage handlers, cleaning crews, and caterer personnel?
I watch as a fuel truck pulls up to the aircraft and as someone connects a hose to the underside of a wing. Who backgrounded this person?
This is NOT to write that any of these people ARE a threat to my safety; it IS to write that any of these people COULD be a threat to my safety.
OK. I board the cigar tube, find my narrow seat with minimal leg room, buckle up and review the safety instructions. (Yes, Virginia, I DO read the instructions — every time and every flight.)
Eventually I’m airborne and eventually I’m once again on the ground at an intermediate destination.
I race — I use the term “race” very loosely — from the arrival jetway toward the departure jetway until . . .
Until I have to go through yet another screening.
* Off with the shoes.
* Off with the jacket,
* Off with the belt.
* Remove the laptop.
* Stand and be scanned.
WHY?
* I went through all this at the originating airport.
* I have not been out of a “sanitary” area.
My bag HAS been out of the “sanitary” area but it is not subjected to another search.
Again, as I am perambulating to my next flight, cleaning crews, baggage handlers, caterers, fuelers, and miscellaneous airline personnel are messing with the aircraft.
Who vetted these people? When?
If the aircraft is operated by El Al, I know — from personal experience — that an El Al security person is on board while the plane is on the ground, monitoring cleaners and caterers.
I tolerate a “20-question” interview by Israeli security before boarding a flight to Israel, but this usually is after being scanned for the second time. I don’t have to disrobe or empty pockets or suffer any other inconveniences as I am profiled.
Air crews are paid pretty good and, here’s the caveat, most mentally stable people don’t want to die. The air crews may be smugglers or miscreants of other types, but probably they are not suicidal.
On the other hand, baggage handlers, caterer personnel, cleaning crews, and other ground personnel — including ticketing and gate staff — are paid less generously and on occasion have been bribed or otherwise convinced to cause an aircraft to fail to make its destination.
Aside from international air travel, my personal background has something to do with my security concerns. As a Reporter/Editor and, later, as a Risk Management Practitioner, I have for years had a “suspicious mind” that considers, as much as I’m able, all the perils I face.
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