My wife mentions that this is our first time flying since 9-11, and she is a bit nervous. She wonders how long it will take to get through airport security.###30###
Morrie tells her that he never has any problems, because he always flies first class. "I paid almost two grand for my ticket to Detroit."
I sputter. "Let's see, I think I paid something like $300 for our flight to New Orleans."
"You get what you pay for," smirks Morrie
The van pulls up to the airport. We get our bags and head for the ticket counter.
Morrie lets us know that he will be getting VIP treatment from this point on, and disappears.
Our line moves quickly. We show our picture I.D. and answer several questions regarding who packed our bags. We are given boarding passes and head towards our concourse.
We wait a few minutes at airport security. I empty my pockets, and proceed through the metal detector.
I am ushered to a spot where a guard politely passes a wand over my body.
"May I touch your person?" asks the guard.
"Sure," say I.
He has me remove my shoes, and checks to see if any bombs are hidden in my penny loafers. I am rather pleased that I don't have any holes in my socks.
Satisfied, he waves me on and wishes me a good flight.
I look behind me and I see Morrie standing at the gate. I am a bit surprised, since I expected him to be sipping champagne in the VIP lounge. Evidently Morrie is wearing lots of metal. I can just barely hear the security guard speaking to him. "May I touch your person?"
"Hell NO!" says our hero. "I'm first class and I don't have to take this sort of crap."
Two more security guards appear and station themselves on either side of Morrie. He does not look very happy as they usher him to a private room.
My wife greets me with a smile. Evidently she also has witnessed this checkpoint exchange.
She quips, "I wonder if Morrie is wearing clean underwear?"
I take my wife's hand. "God is good," I whisper, as together we walk the concourse to our gate.
The Columbia River Reader is printed monthly by Randy Sanders.
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