Let Cooler Heads Prevail

Dearest Rachel –

There are so many reasons why I wish you were still here. Some are obvious at any point in time that you look at it; others, only in certain situations that come up so infrequently that even I tend to forget about them. This is one of those latter things, and one of those times when it snaps into focus.

I like to think of myself as relatively laid-back and unflappable. I can shrug off certain inconveniences – especially if they only affect me – with a certain amount of sangfroid. But when it was about you, or Daniel, that was another story. Which I’m about to tell you.

Our time at the airport was already soured a bit by the fact that the check-in line wasn’t open when we arrived, and moved interminably slow once it did open. Ben-Gurion isn’t O’Hare by any stretch of imagination, but they make up for the lack of busyness with a pace that makes the Spanish term ‘mañana’ look absolutely frantic with urgency.

Now, in fairness, that wouldn’t bother me all that much, either. We’d arrived at six o’clock for a 10:30 flight, so however long it took to get through the line, we’d likely still have ample time to sit around and wait for the plane to be ready for us regardless. But standing in a line actually takes more of a toll on one’s feet than all the walking we did in a given day, and when that’s compounded by an eventual need for a washroom (a situation with which you could well relate), then one starts to get irritable, I have to admit.

But after a while, we finally got through, and we found ourselves at the screening booth… and here’s where things really started to go off the rails.

At first, we grabbed what we thought was the shortest line, thinking we’ll get up to the conveyor belt that much sooner. Logical conclusion, but wrong. The screening machine had run out of bins, to put a (hopefully temporary) halt to the process. However, instead of telling us that the machine was faulty, so that we could abandon the line for another, the security staff continued to work on it, before finally unleashing a lashing of bins more or less all at once. Okay, problem solved, but by now, Daniel and I were bringing up the rear of the group.

Security at an airport is no joking matter, and in Israel, that goes doubly so, I understand. But when they started asking Daniel about where he’s been, and he goes on to describe all the sites we visited, and I broke in to tell him know that they just wanted to know where he had stayed, I was informed brusquely that “I want to hear it from him,” referring to Daniel. This flustered Daniel, as he tried to remember the name of the town (Netanya) that we stayed in that first night.

It went downhill from there. Once he appeared to have satisfied the screener with our itinerary, we filled a couple of bins apiece (thankfully, I suppose, we were allowed to keep our shoes on while emptying our pockets and removing our belts) and sent them through. But his backpack was shunted off to a different conveyor belt for the security team to look over. They sent it through a second time, at which point, I was asking “Is there a problem, officer?” After all, his bag had passed muster on the flights in, what could be causing such a fuss on the way out?

After the third run through the scanner, they opened it up to examine everything, item by item. At this point, Daniel was getting weak in the knees, apologizing over and over with no idea as to why, and I was growing more than a little cross with the security staff. It may not be obvious to them, but I was starting to get concerned he was going to have a breakdown, and if he did, they would likely have two meltdowns on their hands in fairly short order.

They unpacked everything of his: cloud pillow, stuffed animal, electronics and… a bag? It was the essentials bag given to him for the O’Hare to Istanbul flight, with a sleep mask, slippers… and a toothbrush and paste. Was this what the fuss was about? I told them at this point that, if they had a problem with it, they should take it up with Turkish Airways, as we reassembled both Daniel and his bag, and moved on to the next obstacle.

Which shouldn’t have been, to be honest. It was a series of check-in stanchions, where we had to set our passports face down on a scanner, look into a camera to have our features confirmed against the picture, and the doors would open, allowing us to proceed to our gate. Simple enough, and I got through with minimal fuss. But the events at the scanner seemed to have thrown Daniel off, and when he placed his passport down, nothing happened. He tried several different stanchions, all with no success. By now, we were starting to wonder if this had anything to do with what happened at the scanner – and I had the additional concern that, if the passport was rejected on first or second processing, he would be locked out simply by dint of trying unsuccessfully too many times in a row, like what sometimes happens with a computer password.

Somehow, we weren’t the last of the group to get through, and several of the others instructed Daniel to a kiosk being manned by an airport staffer, who assisted him in placing his passport down facing the correct way. Once the doors finally opened, he practically hugged me out of sheer relief.

From here, it could be expected to be smooth sailing. Since I still had to use a washroom (as well as going through getting my value-added tax refund for our purchases, I reminded him of our gate, to go on ahead of me, and that I would catch up with him once I’d taken care of business. And for the record, said business was uneventful – I even managed to get my refund in dollars, as opposed to shekels, although I think I was on the losing end of the exchange rate, to be honest.

However, when I found my way to the gate, Daniel was nowhere in sight. That wouldn’t necessarily be a concern; sitting around at an airport gate is a boring affair, and he would likely have wandered off to the toward the rotunda for a little window shopping, or to get a snack. But when the others there told me they hadn’t seen him, that’s when I sensed panic rising within me. There was no reason he would have fallen behind me, was there? I was getting distinct “Deep End of the Ocean” videos about this.

Several others, including Junior, offered to help me look for him. And to be honest, it turned out to not be all that hard; we found him just starting to make his way down the corridor from the rotunda, where he’d been taking in some sights, and snapping the odd picture. All was well that ended well.

Junior tells me of my relieved reaction on our second trip when you caught up with us after a quick (but close-call) bathroom trip just before the plane was set to leave Istanbul for Chicago. He seemed struck by the fact that I didn’t get mad or upset, but just let out a relieved “I thought I’d lost you.” I don’t think I was that dramatic about finding Daniel, but this wasn’t cutting things quite so close – I even had time to grab something to eat (and burn my last few shekels in the process) afterwards.

But I know I wasn’t the most level-headed in this situation. You would have kept a cool head, while I was panicking. And while I don’t consider this particular loss all that often, it’s times like this when I really miss it.

And, it hardly needs to be said, you.