LOGO : Site title

We had the (mis)fortune of flying on this past Dec. 26th. Not only was it the day after Christmas, but it was also the day after the most recent airline scare. Before heading to the airport, Larry and I glanced at the news a few times but didn’t discuss the possible effect it might have on our flight. We were flying only to New York, barely over an hour in the air, on a 70-seat plane, so hopefully it was too small for anyone to consider stupidity, and, anyway, worrying about it for too long or out loud might encourage a dastardly fate to come round our way.

If we thought about it too long, we might also have to think about what to say to Oliver, now 5 ½ and observant, perceptive and articulate but not a follower of current events (unless one of his school friends fills him in and, fortunately, these were the holidays). Because we were flying barely 24 hours after the Detroit incident, the available news, we would see later, was preliminary, and even with the barest information we just skimmed, our attentions being distracted by packing and, oh yes, Christmas. Unwrapping presents and eating, spending quality family time and then packing does prevent one from becoming too immersed in the news. When we arrived at the airport on the morning of the 26th, we just hoped for the normal things, that our flight wouldn’t be delayed or that there wouldn’t be someone claiming that fourth seat in our row. So, initially, we thought we had nothing special to say to Oliver, and that remained true almost until we boarded.

We were flying from the tiny island airport in Toronto. We love this airport because it’s not the huge labyrinthine complex that Pearson is and it’s practically down the street from us. But as we lined up for the security check, there was no way we could pretend that this was fun. Like most kids, Oliver is not patient and as we slouched towards the scanners and prepared him to take his boots off, he asked why (the last time we flew, it was sandal weather).

“So that no one will do anything silly on the plane,” I told him, knowing it was the thinnest of answers. I braced myself for him to ask what I meant by “silly,” but we had gotten close enough to the front to hear the security people ask us to remove laptops from our bags. We didn’t have a laptop, but we did have a portable DVD player which qualified as an electronic device that had to be revealed. Oliver caught the eye of one of the security officers and pointed to our DVD player. “That’s my laptop,” he announced proudly. The security officer responded with a grudging smile and then we shuffled towards the metal detector. Oliver dashed through as the beeps assaulted everyone’s hearing, so of course he was sternly told to do it again, slowly this time. I’m sure the only piece of metal on him was the snap that closed the waist band of his jeans, but I know, rules are rules.

I thought that once we got through that we could relax in Porter’s nicely appointed lounge. I looked forward to their decent coffee and tolerable cookies. But first, a little lecture from an elderly security officer for using too many tubs for our boots, keys, change, passports, cameras, cellphones, Oliver’s backpack containing a couple of books and a stuffed animal, and of course the DVD player, and for taking too long to empty them out. “Other people need them too!” she admonished like a cranky grandmother. Or a cranky airline passenger. Very slowly, I answered, “I’m moving as quickly as I can.” I wanted to give her a little dose of the stultifying experience from the other side.

We had about half an hour before boarding, a decent enough time to sip a bit of coffee, visit the washroom and set up our DVD player so that Oliver could watch Cars before complaining about being bored. When boarding time arrived, we were told families would board first. There were about three other families, and after going down the hall, I was surprised to encounter another line-up because there was another security check. We were asked to open our bags and undo our belts but not take off our boots. Despite just having gone through this on a greater scale, inexplicably, they wanted to do it again.

What surprised me the most was the wanding of toddlers. In front of us was a family with a child who looked like she had just mastered walking two or three feet. The parents were asked to set the baby down and the security officer proceeded to wand this young thing. In retrospect, after learning that the would-be terrorist in Detroit had explosives in his underwear, I suppose anything is possible and therefore an infant may be an unwitting mule to disaster. But really!

The plane was fairly empty when we boarded, and the lone flight attendant was crouched down talking to three kids a few years older than Oliver, who all wore tags that identified them as unaccompanied minors. I have no doubt that they were well looked-after, but that’s one morning when I’m sure their parents wished to be there. I hope I never have to make the decision to put Oliver on a plane by himself.

We and the other families settled into our seats. One of the things Oliver looked forward to was realizing my promise of a lollipop. We don’t let him have candy as a rule, but I read somewhere that it can help on the take-off and landing when some kids cry because they don’t know to swallow to get rid of the pressure in their ears. I wish I’d known that when Oliver flew as a toddler, but I was glad to have found organic lollipops and we treated the idea as a special occasion so that he knew not to ask for them apart from flying. Because he doesn’t eat candy, I wasn’t sure if one lollipop was sufficient and I packed almost the whole package in my carry-on. After I gave him one and he dutifully licked it as the novelty it was, I became aware of the other, younger kids who were crying even though we were still on the ground. I signalled to the flight attendant and offered up almost all the remaining pops I carried. She looked grateful and handed them to the parents.

After the other passengers filed in, the pilot announced that no one would be allowed to get up from their seats to retrieve overhead baggage or use the washroom. Can you believe it? Yes, of course you can, because that restriction has been broadcast widely enough now, but that morning we were among the very first to hear of it.

“I suggest you use the washroom now before take-off,” the pilot advised. His voice was predicatably sonorous, soporific, one might say, but I have no doubt it shot a wave of anxiety through everyone onboard. I had actually just used the lone facility myself, and I felt grateful for once having accidental foresight. By the time the pilot got on the speaker again, “Everyone must now go back to their seats. If we don’t take off now, we’ll lose our slot,” there were at least half a dozen people waiting to relieve themselves, and now they would have to carry that along with all their trepidation for another hour into Newark.

I have no doubt that we were all tense as the plane took off. But at least on a Porter flight there is food to look forward to. I remembered being pleasantly surprised by the sandwiches from our last flight and thought it would be the perfect way to take our minds off the present situation. Oh, here they come with the ... bags of chips? granola bars? very salty almonds? WTF?

I was disappointed by the absence of sandwiches and the realization that Porter had cut back on its vaunted service. Was this the first sign of their decline as well? But I also knew that where Oliver was concerned, I shouldn’t surrender our no-junk-food policy. He was keen to dig into the bag of chips, while I tried to steer him to the granola bar. I realize they were probably comparable in terms of calories and nutrition, as well as both being highly processed, but to me what is perceived as junk food by Oliver is also important because I don’t want him to think in the future that once upon a time I let him have a bag of chips.

So that killed some time. And then we looked through the magazine and even tried the brain teaser at the back. With any luck, I thought, this will take half an hour and then we would be landing. Probably thanks to our just-digested carbs, a measure of anxiety eased, and of course, the mind started to wander. What would they do for longer flights, Larry and I wondered. I leaned across the aisle: They’ll have to hand out the diapers, and we both laughed. I thought I had whispered, but Oliver seemed to have heard since he suddenly announced: “I have to pee.”

But of course.

I didn’t want to think of it as a worst-case scenario, but it was hard to resist. We flagged down the flight attendant to ask permission. She closed her eyes as if she was trying to suppress her emotions, which I’m sure was exactly what she was doing. “It’s been the worst day,” she whispered so quietly that I thought I was lip reading before she opened her eyes again. When she finally did, she responded, this time much more audibly: “I’ll have to ask the pilot.”

“You can leave the door open,” I offered, assuming that the requirement was to monitor all passengers for the entire flight. I could even see the upside since on this turbo prop the washrooms were especially cramped. And Oliver, being a five-year-old boy, has no sense of modesty in addition to nothing to hide. The flight attendant nodded sharply to acknowledge my request and suggestion and then quickly walked away.

“Justify your reason for coming to this country. If you can’t, I can kick you out.” 

Even in these post-9/11 times, I don’t normally think of airline crew as being a tough job because they’re trained to make it all look glamorous, but at that moment I did really feel sorry for her. A vision of Oliver peeing on the seat invaded my thoughts. That would be embarrassing, but after five years of motherhood, manageable. But what would be worse would be keeping him calm in wet clothes until we could get to our luggage somewhere in the Newark airport. Having become complacent in his post-diaper period, I didn’t pack a change of clothes into our carry-on. For future trips, note to self indeed.

The flight attendant returned. “You can accompany him and close the door.” We were so relieved, figuratively speaking. “But after him, no one else. We’re going to be landing soon anyway.” She made a slicing motion with her hand to emphasize the special privilege we were receiving. I can’t remember a time I was so grateful to receive permission for anything.

I also can’t help but feel that we were granted our wish because I’d handed out those lollipops back in that relatively innocent time before we knew we would be chained to our seats. Another note to self: always suck up to the flight attendants.

After Oliver’s trip to the bathroom, we seemed to be suspended for an interminable time over Newark. Of course, this is nothing new in airline travel, but I’m sure everyone felt they could not get off that plane fast enough. But there would be one more hurdle at immigration. Since Newark is such a large airport we knew there would be a wait. After landing and moving towards immigration, Oliver announced again that he needed to pee so I took him the bathroom while Larry lined up. When we returned, he had made progress, relatively speaking. When we neared the immigration counters, we could see officers instructing people to press their fingers on small screens and then having their pictures taken by a camera. More than once I noticed officers flipping through passports with a look on their faces as if to say, “Justify your reason for coming to this country. If you can’t, I can kick you out.” Maybe they were saying something else, but sometimes body language can appear so articulate.

I relayed my observations to Larry and mentally girded myself for the grilling. But when it was our turn and we answered the terse questions about why we were there and where we would be staying, the officer opened our passports without looking down and stamped them robotically and practically flung them back to us. Okay, maybe he handed them back to us nicely, but I wasn’t feeling the welcome mat being set out for us.

A few nights ago, I caught the tail end of Love Actually on TV. I’d remembered it as a mediocre movie, but I had to floss, so I watched. What surprised me was not that it was redeemed but that one of the final scenes featured a young boy jumping over an airport security officer, through a metal detector and then running through Heathrow, officers in hot pursuit, towards a boarding gate to announce his undying love to his crush. Even though the movie came out after 9/11, I suppose the filmmakers considered it an acceptable expression of youth. I don’t think I’m jittery from the recent news, but I can’t see such a scene making the cut in any film again. That boy would be hauled off to the nearest lock-up and then scheduled to appear at the Old Bailey or the Hounslow equivalent, sentenced with a stiff fine and a felony record.