Another Day At The Airport ... Another internet cafe

from Jacqueline.

I just had time to flick on the computer yesterday, before leaving for LAX at 5:00am. One message - from my mother in England: "So glad you left us last Thursday and not today. Would hate to think of you on a 'plane." She knows I like to fly on Thursdays when I return home from the UK.

I didn't reply, just turned off the computer and left the house. I couldn't lie and didn't want her to know I was flying - and there was no need to find out more, the reason for the message, because it didn't take the brains of an archbishop to know that chaos was in the air.

As I've written before, I've been pretty close to acts of terrorism in my time, working in London in the late 1970's and 80's, when every day brought new bomb threats. I narrowly missed disaster once, on my way to Regent's Park, and heard that split-second of silence that follows a bomb, the second when the earth gasps in pain for what humans can do to humanity, the second before all hell breaks loose.

Despite what you might have read, I thought everyone was really calm at LAX. People stood in long lines to go through security, perhaps taking one last spritz before ditching the Chanel No 5, or looking wistfully as the bottle of Moet & Chandon landed with a thud in the trash can. If I'd seen anyone throw a bottle of Bollinger, I would probably have grabbed it and gone home. Then there were the jerks. Two idiots in front of me giving a flight attendant grief because they couldn't take their half-drunk lattes on board. "Get a life" seemed a wholly appropriate response. I had a mind to butt in and say, "What is wrong with you? Security services, intelligence operatives, people in this airport are busting their guts to make sure you get from A to B without being turned into a human smoothie in mid-air and you want to keep your (insert appropriate expletive) latte?"

In those years of working in London, we didn't need anyone to tell us which code we'd woken up to that day, whether it was green, orange, red or sky-blue-pink-with-yellow-dots. We knew that we had to be our own security. Sometimes that meant waiting, sometimes it meant you missed the first date with a guy you'd liked for ages (before cellphones, mind you), and sometimes it meant you walked a long way home. Of course, strangers swapped stories of the meal missed, the presentation that would lead to surefire promotion that would have to be cancelled, and the fact that someone else would have to pick up the kids from school. But you just got on with it because you might get another stab at that presentation, that you might even get another date with that guy, and the kids would see their mum or dad that night.

How do I feel now? I admit that part of my fear of flying is probably connected to a fear of terrorism. But I will never forget being in London just after the July bombings last year. Someone had told me about the "We Are Not Afraid" website, so I logged on to see where hundreds and thousands of people were posting photos of themselves, their kids, their grandparents, pets, co-workers, all with the sign, "We Are Not Afraid." People from around the globe declaring solidarity against fear. There are those who say that the opposite of fear is love - and, as the saying goes, all we need is love.

Whatever I feel inside, that's where I'll stand - with the collective goodness of humanity, with We Are Not Afraid. And part of that means being patient in the lines at the airport. I'll take off my shoes, pack my bags according to the latest advisory, and I'll chuck out my tea if I'm asked to. And I'll look at the bright side - I won't have to wait for ages on the way to my airline seat, while some bozo tries to ram a full-size suitcase into the overhead compartment. That no handbaggage and no cellphones rule could be a blessing in disguise. And we need all the blessings we can get.

Oh, and one last note: To the men and women of the security services around the world, to people who risk their lives - or at the very least, risk getting into an argument with a latte-toting Mr & Mrs Angry - most of the time we don't hear about the disasters you've averted, only the ones you didn't. I'm only one voice, but I'd like to say, "Thank you." Whether you're swabbing bags at the airport, patrolling a street or the departures lounge, or infiltrating a terrorist cell - I couldn't do your job. But I am relieved beyond measure that you can.

So, from an internet cafe in Ashland, Oregon, I'm signing off now. This computer is as dodgy as the one I used in London last week!

Go safely, wherever you are.