Business trip report # 1
While waiting for my flight out of LAX, I sat next to a thirty-something white couple, who I only noticed because they seemed unusually lovey-dovey for people who (I thought, though I didn't check for rings) were married and I was jealous.
As I sat and read, two other people walked up. "Are these seats available?"
The married couple had taken off, but I noticed they'd left a carry-on next to the one at my feet. "No, I don't think so, that's a piece of their luggage."
Odd that they didn't ask me to watch it for them, I thought. Anyone might walk off with it.
Ten minutes later, another two people show up: "Can we sit here?"
"Um... I think those seats are taken... at least, they left a bag there..." I look around for the couple. Where are they, anyway? You're not supposed to leave luggage unattended, it could be stolen or confiscated as a possible...
The two people edge away. I look at the bag, consider the couple who left it. Everyone in earshot is staring at that bag.
Me: "It's not ticking."
Guy next to me: "Did you get a look at the people who left it?"
Me: "Yeah, it was a man and woman, but I really don't think they fit the profile for--"
The woman dashes up. "Oh good!" She grabs the bag. "Sorry about that. My husband's always losing things."
In retrospect, even though a lovey-dovey couple seem wildly unlikely as terrorists in America, I probably should have pointed to that bag and said, "Hey! Does this belong to anyone?" And then turned it over to the airport folk if nobody showed up.
Of course, that would have gotten the lovey couple yanked off their flight and probably gotten their bag blown up. The ideal would have been not to have been so glued to my book (Barbara Michaels, THE WINGS OF THE FALCON) that I didn't notice they left it the first time.
On the plane, the woman next to me was reading DON'T LET'S GO TO THE DOGS TONIGHT, a memoir of a white woman's childhood in Africa. She recommended Stacey's as a good bookshop for me to sign at in San Francisco. She's a labor lawyer. "My grand-daddy was a union organizer," I said. We ended up talking the whole flight. She was very cool.
Getting out of Oakland, I saw a man drop his boarding pass and walk on, oblivious. I picked it up and ran after him. Clearly, I am more alert when I'm not reading.
The jewelry show was a jewelry show. The flight there was more interesting.
As I sat and read, two other people walked up. "Are these seats available?"
The married couple had taken off, but I noticed they'd left a carry-on next to the one at my feet. "No, I don't think so, that's a piece of their luggage."
Odd that they didn't ask me to watch it for them, I thought. Anyone might walk off with it.
Ten minutes later, another two people show up: "Can we sit here?"
"Um... I think those seats are taken... at least, they left a bag there..." I look around for the couple. Where are they, anyway? You're not supposed to leave luggage unattended, it could be stolen or confiscated as a possible...
The two people edge away. I look at the bag, consider the couple who left it. Everyone in earshot is staring at that bag.
Me: "It's not ticking."
Guy next to me: "Did you get a look at the people who left it?"
Me: "Yeah, it was a man and woman, but I really don't think they fit the profile for--"
The woman dashes up. "Oh good!" She grabs the bag. "Sorry about that. My husband's always losing things."
In retrospect, even though a lovey-dovey couple seem wildly unlikely as terrorists in America, I probably should have pointed to that bag and said, "Hey! Does this belong to anyone?" And then turned it over to the airport folk if nobody showed up.
Of course, that would have gotten the lovey couple yanked off their flight and probably gotten their bag blown up. The ideal would have been not to have been so glued to my book (Barbara Michaels, THE WINGS OF THE FALCON) that I didn't notice they left it the first time.
On the plane, the woman next to me was reading DON'T LET'S GO TO THE DOGS TONIGHT, a memoir of a white woman's childhood in Africa. She recommended Stacey's as a good bookshop for me to sign at in San Francisco. She's a labor lawyer. "My grand-daddy was a union organizer," I said. We ended up talking the whole flight. She was very cool.
Getting out of Oakland, I saw a man drop his boarding pass and walk on, oblivious. I picked it up and ran after him. Clearly, I am more alert when I'm not reading.
The jewelry show was a jewelry show. The flight there was more interesting.