What follows is a contribution/comment gleaned from the Telegraph.
It shows what happens when some people think to much and others blindly follow.
I am an airline captain flying the Boeing 747-400 for a major international airline.
I am 54 years of age.
I am a white anglo-saxon protestant.
I am 6ft tall and I am clean-shaven.
I have dark hair, thinning slightly on the crown and turning silver at the temples.
I could not be mistaken for anything other than a Caucasian.
In November 2001, my schedule of duties required me to travel as a passenger on a United Airlines flight from New York to Chicago to pick up my aircraft for the return flight to Europe.
Traffic out of the City and along the New Jersey turnpike was light at 7 o’clock in the morning and the driver made the trip in around 40 minutes as against the 1 hour and 30 minutes I had allowed for the journey. My flight was scheduled to depart at 10 o’clock. I presented myself at the United Airlines First Class check-in desk. Yes, way back in those good ol’ days, the company actually paid for us to travel first class even on other carriers. Not that you can tell much difference between first and coach on United Airlines anyway, but that’s another story.
I handed my ticket to the cheerful lady at the desk.
“Just you travellin’ today, Sir? May I see your I.D. please?” she asked politely.
Since the code on my ticket identified me, to people in the industry, as a crew member travelling on duty, I handed her my airline I.D. card.
No major reaction.
“You’re here kinda early for the 10 o’clock flight” she said. “We’ve gotta flight goin’ out at 9 o’clock if ya wanna make that one instead.”
I’d arranged to have a late lunch with an old friend in Chicago, so her proposal made sense.
“O.K. I got two first class seats left on that one. 1D OK for ya?”
“Sure. ’preciate that,” I replied, lapsing subconsciously into the way she had addressed me.
“And when ya comin’ back?” she enquired. “I just got the one flight coupon here.”
“Oh, I’m not coming back,” I answered. “Just one way.”
Over my right shoulder, I was aware that a very large man with a security badge had approached me.
“Will you come with me, please, Sir?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied.
“These your bags, Sir?”
“Yes.”
“Will you bring them with you please, Sir.”
“Of course.”
I had been through security checks at so many airports, both as crew and as a passenger that I was more curious than concerned or irritated by his request.
He and his colleague escorted me between the check-in desks to a large room behind the desks. In the room were a large baggage Xray machine, a series of chemical analysis test kits, metal detectors and a closed circuit television camera.
“Will you place your cases on the belt, please Sir?”
I did as requested, and he went behind the machine to examine the TV screen with his colleague. The cases went through the machine at about one quarter the speed of a normal scan.
“Will you put them through one more time, please Sir?”
They emerged after their second scan.
“Will you put your cases on that table and open them, please Sir?” he requested, always polite.
Once again, I complied with his request.
The contents of my suitcase were of no particular interest, only what was needed for a ten day trip. I was mildly relieved that, on this occasion, I had not bought any ‘interesting items’ for my lady friend in New York. My sponge bag was singled out for inspection and I was asked to open it. It contained nothing untoward. The Gillette Mach 3 razor blades were examined with care. I was asked to switch on my electric toothbrush. My plastic tube of toothpaste was removed and I was asked to remove the top, squeeze some toothpaste out of the tube and taste it. My small bottle of after shave was opened, sniffed, and a few drops put on a swab which was then put through the analyzer. Everything was removed carefully and neatly from the case, examined and then replaced with equal care.
“Will you open your other case, please Sir?”
My pilot’s bag contained items which I needed as a crew member, documents, licences, flight plans, radio headset and other personal items, wallet, passport, telephone and camera. All were removed and inspected. I also carried a pair of small jeweller’s screwdrivers, one flathead and one Philips to be able to tighten any small items on the flight deck. These were removed and brandished as a trophy.
“What are these for, Sir?”
I stopped myself from saying “tightening screws”.
I explained their use and my need for them.
They were placed in a plastic bag.
“Sorry, Sir, but we have to confiscate those.”
“Will I get them back in Chicago?” I asked.
“No, Sir.”
Both cases were then closed and returned to me.
“Thank you very much for your cooperation, Sir. You were selected at random to-day for a more thorough security check than normal. Have a nice flight.”
As an industry employee, I was relieved that security appeared, at last, to be a matter of importance, and it was with a vested interest that I observed the procedures which had been put in place after 9/11. These two security men were pros. Courteous, thorough, detached.
I was now running a little late for my flight, and I returned to the desk to deposit my check-in suitcase and to collect my boarding card.
I set off to the departure gate and got as far as the main entrance to the numerous gates. There was a long queue for another security check. I placed my pilot’s case on the security machine belt, emptied my pockets of all items and placed them in a plastic basket, and, having shown my boarding card, walked through the metal detector archway. Not a beep. My case emerged from the machine and I went to retrieve it. A female security officer beat me to it.
“Is this your bag, Sir? Will you open it, please?”
Sense of humour just starting to wear a little thin, now.
I opened it, and once again all the items were removed for scrutiny.
I mentioned earlier that I had my pilot’s headset in this case. I don’t use the type of headset with the earpads, headband and separate microphone. I use a headset with a small molded plastic earpiece specially made to fit the exact contours of my left ear with a small boom microphone attached. In addition, it has about three feet of thin electrical cable with plugs on the end to plug in to the aircraft’s communications systems. This was ceremoniously removed from its protective bag.
“What is this, Sir?” she enquired.
This time I couldn’t resist. Very wrong of me, I know, but……
“It’s my hearing aid,” I answered.
She believed me.
“I’m just going to……………………………………………….”
At this point, a very loud announcement was made over the airport public address system, and I honestly did not hear what she had said to me. When the announcement ended, I said “Sorry?”
She repeated, “I’M…JUST…GOING….TO…PUT….YOUR….BAG…THROUGH…THE… XRAY…MACHINE…….AGAIN, and under her breath, I’m sure she said “You Deaf Old Git”.
The case came through after its second blast of radiation and I was on my way to the gate. Ten minutes to departure.
Whoa! Not so fast. What’s this? Oh, another security check at the gate. The passenger in front of me had just had his expensive “Leatherman” all-in-one handyman’s toolkit confiscated. How did that get past my hawk-eyed security lady at the first check? He was not a little upset at losing this piece of equipment, and no, he would not get it back in Chicago.
I passed this check with minimum fuss, and pretty well ran down the jetway to board the aircraft.
I showed my boarding pass to the flight attendant standing at door one left. She looked at it….. she looked at me…..she looked at it…..she looked at me…….she showed me to my seat. 1 D. Front row of first class cabin, window seat. She returned to the forward galley and talked to another two members of her crew. The captain made a brief appearance from the flight deck and smiled to his first class passengers.
I fastened my seat belt and started to read the inflight magazine.
The flight left a few minutes late, and as we left the gate, I was joined in the adjacent seat, 1 C, by a United Airlines stewardess, who was travelling as a passenger.
We began making pleasant small talk and by the time the flight took off, I felt that I knew her family as well as, if not better than, she did. But that’s Americans for you.
As the A320 climbed out of Newark and set course for Chicago, I started asking her about the extraordinary security procedures at the airport. I told her of my experiences.
“You told them you’re a pilot???” she asked.
“Not directly,” I replied, “I showed my airline I.D. when they asked for photo ID.”
“Ah, you never wanna do that,” she said. “it might be a forgery, or stolen…..do you have your boarding pass there?”
I took the pass from my shirt pocket and showed it to her.
“Wow,” she said.
“Waddya mean ‘Wow’?” I ventured.
“You’ve got the highest security rating they can give you, and still let you board the flight.”
“WHAT?”
“Yeah, you see these four little asterisks in the top right hand corner here? You really upset the system and set off alarm bells somehow.”
Together, for the next twenty minutes or so, she and I pieced together the bits of information which had made me such a marked man.
I had made a last minute change of flight. Even although this change had been at the invitation of the check-in clerk, it had put the wheels in motion.
I was a single, middle-aged male travelling, apparently, alone.
I had presented photo ID in the form of my airline company ID card which indicated that I was “Flight Crew – Captain”. Would-be pilots were not flavour of the month in the USA eight weeks after 9/11.
I had a first class ticket. Why? Because I wanted to be close to the flight deck? Did I plan to leave my seat in flight and only have to take four steps to the flight deck door? Or to the front galley to take a stewardess hostage using a concealed weapon?
Most alarming to the system was the fact that my itinerary was a One Way ticket. I had no intention of returning. Why was that? Was I prepared to die in my suspected ill intentions? No point in a return ticket, then.
So, unwittingly, I had triggered a major security concern.
I have nothing but respect for the security procedures to which I was subjected. I just hope that they continue to be applied to all travellers who might give the security system any cause for concern.
I waited patiently for the in-flight meal to be served. I had a tomato juice and two, yes two, bags of pretzels (this is first class, you know).
I asked my travelling companion when the meal would be served.
“Meal? No, we stopped all meal services after 9/11.”
I didn’t quite get that one, but decided to let it pass.
We landed in Chicago ten minutes early.
I had a beautiful lunch with my friend at Shaw’s Crab House
