WHETHER WEATHER

NOTES OF CONCERN…
…Jack Blair


WHETHER WEATHER


Last week I spent a wonderful time with relatives and friends in Southern Pines and Pinehurst, both in North Carolina. I had for some time wanted to go and visit with them but my schedule simply did not permit.

When I arrived at the Raleigh Durham Airport I was a little disheartened that it was not warmer. It had been 3 degrees when I left home in Massachusetts and headed to Logan airport for the flight to Raleigh Durham. In a hopeful attitude, I put a pair of sunglasses in my coat pocket. During my stay in the South, I never needed the sunglasses but I was surely happy I had taken a couple of sweaters and a winter coat.

Nevertheless, the vacation was everything I had hoped for and it was with a great deal of reluctance that I returned at 8AM one morning to the NC airport for my flight back to Boston. Due to land in Boston around 10AM and go directly to a conference I had planned the trip well but with no wiggle room.

Turns out I needed a lot of wiggle room. I had failed to give sufficient attention to the ugly WHETHER WEATHER question.

Massachusetts had a real cold spell, and a good bit of snow during my sojourn in NC. Unfortunately, Mother Nature had saved the best for last- a big snowstorm hitting Boston the morning of my flight.

On arrival at the JetBlue ticket counter something seemed very wrong. No one was working the counter and no people were in line to check in for the flight.

Some poor soul who worked at the airport went behind the counter and pretended to be an agent. I was told the flight before mine had been cancelled as had my flight. He assured me they had protected me on the next flight, one leaving around 5PM. Remember, it is 8AM and they have done me the great favor of putting me on a 5PM flight. Perhaps I did not look so grateful.

I had no desire to sit around the airport until 5PM so I inquired as to connecting flights that could get me at least part way. I was thinking if I could get as far as NYC the east coast snow would be over and I would fly easily from NYC to Boston in the mid-afternoon, well before 5PM.

“No problem,” he said.

So I was taken off the 5PM non-stop flight from NC to MA and put on a flight earlier to NYC with a connection on to Boston.

“No problem,” I said.

“Problem,” said Mother Nature.

As the morning continued, the flight I was to take to NYC was “delayed.” It was delayed again after one hour and another time after a second hour. I should mention that the word delay is always followed by a period. Nothing follows “delayed.” They do not say how long a delay. They do not say why there is a delay. They do not tell you, in other words, whether you have five hours and can take a cab into town and catch a movie or five minutes to refresh your cup of Starbucks.

It was now clear that even if my NYC flight departed on time I would miss my Boston connection out of NYC. I went up to the desk and asked that I be rebooked on the 5PM direct flight to Boston that I was previously on.

There were four people working that desk. “Working” is not a good descriptive word for what they were doing. They told me they did not have time to rebook me so I needed to go back out of the secure area, down to the main desk, rebook myself and come back through security again.

Somehow these people must have been told that I had been on the flight and that I asked to be taken off of it and that I now wanted back on. I probably sounded a lot like Senator John Kerry and his “for,” “against” and “for” votes that caused his presidential campaign so much trouble.

My response: unprintable.

Down I went. Of the three people working the desk, facing the long line of people trying to find another way out of NC, I drew a real winner. On reflection, I think they grabbed a guy who was sweeping floors and pushed him behind a desk so as to give false hope to we disgruntled travelers.

He took my ticket and my passport, and then asked me my name. This was my first clue. My name was printed on both my ticket and my passport.

I let that pass.

He asked me for a photo ID. Even one who ever travels knows that passports contain passport photos. Nevertheless, I was the supplicant here.

I let that pass as I handed him my MA driver’s license.

I should mention here that to most Southerners the Civil War is not over. In fact, during my stay in NC I heard it referred to often as the “War of Northern Aggression.” I mention this now as it occurred to me that these NC based agents had just been shown a MA driver’s license.

Bad move.

It would have been much better to show him my Mickey Mouse Club membership card, or my American Gold card. If the length of the flight delays had been clearer, I might have been able to run out and join the Sons of the Confederacy and get a photo ID.

The agent went onto his computer. Clearly, this was his first visit to an airline computer.

The next hour gave new meaning to “on the job training.” He yelled a series of questions at the other people working the counter. Since they were very busy trying to look busy helping other travelers they were not inclined to drop what they were doing and come to offer him assistance.

There was not one glint of hope in his eyes.

He booked me, by mistake, twice on the flight.
He was unable to get either booking to cancel.
The machine would not spit out a ticket because I was overbooked.

He had terror in his eyes.

I let that pass.

Finally, the agent let out a groan. I wondered what happened.
Seems the one remaining seat on the flight had been scooped up by a fellow traveler in the counter line beside me, the efficient line, and now there were no seats.

I let that pass.

Finally, someone came to offer help. I think it might have been a hot dog vendor, or maybe a baggage claim clerk. It was clear that whoever it was had more familiarity with both a computer and with JetBlue. When the visiting superman figured things out I did, in fact, have a seat. It seems that making a second booking does not eliminate the first one. Who knew? Certainly not the uniformed employee of JetBlue who was handling my problem.

Now it is almost noon and I am back on the 5PM flight. I was so happy I broke into a chorus of “Dixie” right there in the airport. I said “remember the Alamo” to the agent, sort of in a soft voice as if it were just between the two of us. If I had packed a copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin I would have read aloud to the assembled travelers. I looked in the gift shop for a jacket with the Stars and Bars in red and grey that I could wear for the remaining hours of my stay in NC. And I vowed never to say “Massachusetts” out loud again when in the South.

I went back through security. It was not an uneventful trip this time.

A mere few hours earlier I had sailed through security. Clearly, my good fortune earlier in the day had something to do with their needing their early morning coffee and donuts.

By noon, they were really paying attention to their jobs. I could tell from the giggling, snorting and general merry-making that everyone tasked to work the x-ray scan that day were seriously enjoying his or her work. If Hugh Hefner had known we were headed down this road he would not have needed to start Playboy magazine. I hear folks are lined up outside every airport trying to get one of the scanner jobs. They are crossing the Texas border in droves in hopes of one of these jobs.

In the morning, they let me keep on my belt.
Noon-no way: “Lose the belt buster.”

In the morning, they told me not to put my IPAD in a separate tray since it did not have any wires a speciall tray was not necessary.

Noon-no way: “Back out there and get that IPAD exposed Yank.”

In the morning, they told me I did not need to take off my watch or to carry my boarding pass through the x-ray machine.
Noon---------well, by now you get it.

They did not let me pass easily.

After a little “touchy feely” routine and the securing of a picture of me naked for the FBI and Homeland Security Christmas Party, I was through security for a second time.

Now about 1PM I knew I had to kill four hours till scheduled flight time. I had a little lunch. I watched some TV in the Sports Bar. I read in my book. I answered a bunch of emails. I made a few telephone calls. Now I only had three hours and 30 minutes to kill.

This is exactly what is meant by the phrase “dead brain cells.”

I thought maybe I would walk around the airport and get some exercise. Let me tell you, airports are duller walks than treadmills. When you have seen one frantic traveler you have seen them all. How many stalled planes sitting at gates that are not open to passengers can one watch in four hours and stay interested?

Maybe a good time for a bathroom break. Friends, in an airport there is no good time for a bathroom break.

You may not leave your luggage anywhere. If you do, you are told an army of TSA agents will sweep down on you and you will be sent to Guantanamo Bay for questioning and to wait until President Obama closes the place…which does not seem to be happening any time soon.

If you decide to brave it, you get about halfway from the gate area to the bathroom before the announcement comes over the loudspeaker detailing all of the horrible things that will happen to you if you leave your luggage unattended.

OK. They have to be watching. No way they could time that announcement to my potty break so accurately.

So you schlep your carry-on bag, your one additional piece of approved luggage (a purse or brief case) and your winter coat with you to the bathroom.

Friends, no one involved in the design of either a bathroom urinal or a stall envisioned you using them with two pieces of luggage and a heavy coat. You know this because there is not enough room on the floor to place the bags. Rarely have they provided a hook for a coat. And then there is the matter of all the wet areas of the floor beneath your feet, clearly breeding grounds for all sorts of bacteria and other less mentionable things. All over the airport are little machines to spray your hands. In bathrooms they should install machines to spray your shoes.

So you try to re-arrange your clothing while hoisting two bags and a coat without having an accident and contributing to the mess already on the floor.

I think it was in the rest room of an airport that Michael Jackson first learned to Moonwalk.

The only good thing that can be said about this experience is that no one is looking at you and laughing because they are all engaged in the same dance you are doing on the cold, wet and dirty tile floor on which you have set two of your bags and reluctantly dropped your winter coat.

During my roughly nine hours waiting for a plane did any airline official offer me a sandwich? Perhaps a free cocktail? A chance to check into a motel and take a flight the next morning? A box of Kleenex?

Nope. Nada. S-O-L fella!

When my 5PM flight was finally called, at 6:45PM, I boarded the plane. The flight is about two hours. Normally. Everything was going smashingly (perhaps not the best word when flying) until we got into Boston air space.

You have undoubtedly heard of that old dance routine called the Hokey/Pokey where everyone lines up and goes right, left, back, around, etc. Well we played airline Hokey/Pokey for another hour while some genius in the Logan Tower took bids on which planes to let land and in what order. I think it had something to do with tickets to the Super Bowl but no one was very clear about it.

I made it to my hotel in Boston about 10PM. You would think I would be happy and relieved.

Nope.

The guy who took my car at the door told me I would owe them $96 for parking when I left. He went out of his way to note this did not include a tip. My head hadn’t even hit the pillow and I owed Sheraton $96.

I hung on to my luggage for dear life. No way was I going to have some guy carry it from the curb to the desk inside and wait for a big tip. I schlepped it myself. I cannot bring myself to relate to you the cost of the room. The good news was the floor was clean and there was a hook for my coat.

The day had been long and tiring. I decided a martini and a shrimp cocktail while sitting quietly in the lounge would help get me calmed down enough to sleep. Just as I was really calming down the waitress brought the bill: $37.00 And, it did not include the tip.

Friends, the moral of this story is that travel is not for intelligent or practical people. It is not good for people easily irritated. It does not generally work for people who are cheap, stingy or poor. And it is most certainly not for anyone who has not considered the weather report.

It isn’t a great idea for anyone who wants to make sense out of their day.

Travel remains of interest only to airlines that manage to fill every seat on their plane but still cannot turn a profit.

Travel remains of interest to those who work as waiters and porters and garage attendants. You have to tip them because they do not earn a decent wage and you have to do so while their employers are robbing you of every dime you have. But after their harrowing trip across the border from Mexico at least they don’t get taxed on their tips.

Travel is a great interest to owners of hotels and providers of food and drink. Imagine that you could get hundreds of dollars every night by letting someone sleep in your bedroom. Then you could get another $50 for permitting them to park in your driveway. You could collect $5 or $10 for helping them with their bags. You could get $3.50 for a cup of coffee and $3.75 for one biscotti biscuit. Then there is the matter of charging them to watch your TV, use your bottled water, or take drinks or snacks from your refrigerator.

I have notified the wife that I am opening The Blair Arms.

I can make enough dough on renting out the guest room 365 nights to enable me to travel into Boston or down to North Carolina one or two days each year.

Depending on whether the weather cooperates on those days, of course.

The Cheese Stands Alone

American foreign policy purports to be built in modern times on a disinterest in "nation building." Accordingly, we must choose to prop up regimes that, when the chips are truly down, can be counted on to provide support to us in our own pursuit of foreign policy goals. World War II was a good example in that we were in bed with Stalin in order to defeat a more serious threat from Hitler.

Hosni Mubarak succeeded Anwar Sadat. Throughout the rules of these two men the U.S. has had a friend in Egypt. In light of the commonly accepted truth that we have few friends in that area of the world, it has been in our national self interest to overlook on many occasions the way Egypt operated in a number of spheres. Of course there are things done in Egypt that we would never permit in our own democracy. Undoubtedly there were violations of human rights. The list of "concerns" could go on.

It behooves us to remember that President Anwar Sadat took a bullet from his own army because of his willingness to consider talking with the State of Israel, a willingness that we pressed upon him in a highly public and pressure filled visit to Camp David. His successor, Hosni Mubarak, has been able to continue as our ally for 30 years. For those who haven't checked lately, you can count our allies in the Middle East on one hand.

Now there is a concerted effort to bring down regimes that are not fundamentalist and replace them with more leaders like those with which we must deal in current day Iran. Egypt may fall to fundamentalism. If so, others will shortly fall also. The end result will be a block of mid-east fundamental regimes with no greater purpose than the decimation of the State of Israel and all out terrorism against the United States.

We played this game of Russian roulette a number of years ago when President Carter turned our national back on the Shah of Iran because of his human rights violations. Not only did we lose a strategic ally in that part of the world we gained a new foe in the form of a fundamentalist state that hates our nation, threatens the area with the creation of nuclear weapons, denies the Holocaust, ignore the United Nations and generally funds and encourages the kind of revolt currently happening in Egypt.

So we made our point: we do not support regimes that do not act nicely. We were instrumental in putting in place a far more threatening, irrational and horrible regime.

Short sighted. Naive. Foolish. I would apply all three adjectives to our foreign policy under James Earl Carter. President Obama would do well to study history. As in the old childrens' song "The Farmer in the Dell"-ultimately the "cheese stands alone."

The "cheese" in this instance is The United States of America.

It is a wake up call.