I went to visit my mom recently. She lives near Portland, Maine, which shares a lot in common with Seattle—same latitude, similar summertime climate, and same ocean-side situation (yes, I know Seattle sits on Puget Sound and not on the ocean, but your average American doesn’t so let’s just keep it between us). What they don’t share is a direct flight path, and that’s kind of a drag because it’s quite a long way from Seattle to Maine, meaning if you want to go from one place to the other you need to:
a) burn a whole day flying
or
b) burn a whole night flying
Whereas my calendar is wide open between 11pm and 6am, my days are pretty booked up. So naturally I chose the red-eye. I was a bit hesitant at first because the last time I took a red-eye to New England I was unceremoniously dumped in Chicago at 4am with a canceled connecting flight and not a single sympathetic customer “service” agent to be found. They claimed it was mechanical failure but I’m pretty certain the pilot had just slept in like I should have. Nevertheless I decided to give the whole “let’s fly instead of sleep” thing another try. What’s the worst that could happen?
Now I know what you’re thinking, and no. My plane didn’t crash in a flaming ball of death, thank you very much. But something strange and unsettling did happen. It went something like this:
It’s just past 10pm as I go through security at SeaTac. No pat down this time, but I’ve got plenty of time so if they want to run my suitcase through the scanner a third time just for kicks, feel free. Make my way to the “N” terminal where I just missed my last chance for a bite to eat. Woot.
No problem, though. Kathy packed lots of snacks for me so I munch on some dried fruit and a cookie. From my seat near the gate it doesn’t look like there’s too many people waiting around. I’m thinking 2/3 full. I take a good look at the people around me. Mostly a sea of forgettable faces, but a few stand out. Some elderly folks, two thirty-something couples with young kids (hope they sit in the way-back), a couple of teenage girls who look like they’re headed back to college. Another girl, no wait—guy? Hmm… bad long hair, big earrings (girl?), lots ‘o tattoos (guy?), black ratty top, goth poofy skirt with black and red striped leggings (girl?), combat boots (guy?)—whatever.
A middle-eastern-or-Pakistani-looking guy in a rumpled “security” uniform talks loudly on his cell phone a few feet away. A friend joins the conversation, followed by a smiling woman in a burqa (maybe the guy’s mom?), then another squat woman wearing with a head scarf and a huge backpack. Finally an attractive (middle-eastern-or-Pakistani-looking) twenty-something woman in western clothes completes the group. They’re all chatting it up a few feet in front of me. Loudly. So I decide to stretch my legs.
I return to the gate when the call for boarding finally comes over the loudspeakers around 11pm. Turns out I was wrong about the flight being only 2/3 full. The place is now packed. The gate agent speaks those dreaded words—“This flight is completely full!” Yuck.
They’re boarding by group, one to four. Please check your boarding pass.
Mine says "4."
I wait for most everyone to board then dutifully join the other stragglers. As I shuffle forward I notice one person near the gate who isn’t making any pretense at joining the queue. Late teens, blonde with bright blue eyes, she’s sitting there like she’s expecting her yoga instructor to show up any moment. She catches my eye and I’m taken aback by the intensity of her gaze. My anti-dirty-old-man programming forces me to look away.
Once I’m aboard (17C-- aisle, if you're wondering) I see the blue-eyed girl pass by again. This time I make an effort not to look directly at her. A basilisk, that one.
Everyone’s aboard, but there’s still an empty seat next to me. I figure it belongs to one of the loud middle-eastern-or-Pakistani group, who seem unable to decide who goes where. In turn, they’re sitting down, then getting up, swapping with someone else from the party, then getting up again. An announcement, “ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats for an on-time departure” doesn’t seem to move things any faster.
Finally the twenty-something western-ish woman drops some belongings in the seat next to me. I notice some handwriting in Arabic on the top piece of paper. She goes back to what I’m now assuming is her mother and gets a couple of bags which she proceeds to stuff into various overhead bins. Finally, she sits down. She's the last passenger to do so.
I’m expecting the usual procedures to follow next, but nothing happens. Everyone’s patient for about five minutes as flight attendants and other airline personnel go about their business up and down the aisles.
Then something completely unexpected happens.
Two flight attendants back slowly up the aisle, moving from back to front. I see their gazes lingering on each passenger’s face. Then I see the teenage blonde girl with them, herself scrutinizing each passenger as she goes. She stops right beside me and points to the woman next to me.
“That’s her,” she says softly to the flight attendant.
The flight attendant thanks her and sends her back to her seat. To the woman sitting next to me, he says, “Ma’am, could you please step into the aisle?”
The woman shakes her head that she doesn’t understand. I do, so I get up to make way for her. Finally she complies. The flight attendants instruct her to identify which carry-on bags are hers. She points out two bags which the flight attendants retrieve.
“Can you please come with us?” says the male flight attendant. The woman doesn’t seem afraid and angry. She doesn’t look anything. She just does as she’s told as she’s escorted off the plane.
I look around at the people around me to see if anyone else finds this whole thing a little odd. Apparently not, though. Others in my row just go about their own business.
A flight attendant comes on the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the delay. There’s just been a little mix up with some baggage and we’re working as quickly as possible to sort it out. We appreciate your patience.”
Now a new face appears on the plane. A man. Early forties, overweight. I see from his tags as he passes that he's a "customer service manager" for the airline. He goes back to talk to the teenage girl then heads out.
A new voice on the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain. Looks like we’re going to have to sit tight a little longer while they take a look down in the baggage hold. Evidently they're looking for a particular bag, so we don’t know how long it’ll be. Hopefully no more than ten minutes or so. Sit tight and thanks for your patience.”
I laugh out loud this time. Apparently I’m the only one who finds the comments less than comforting. I’m wondering what the hell is going on with the woman they took off the plane.
Mr. Customer Service Manager comes back in and now asks the missing woman’s mother to please get her bags and come with him. She, too, is led away with her bags in tow.
My former seat-mate comes back on board with one of the flight attendants and points out a bag in yet another overhead bin. The flight attendant pulls down the bag and says to the people around her, “Does this bag belong to anyone? Does anyone recognize this bag?” No one speaks up and soon the flight attendant, the bag, and the woman are gone.
Mr. Customer Service Manager comes on the loudspeaker.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I can see that there are some anxious faces out there, and I just want to reassure you that everything is fine. Your safety is our number one concern. We’ve had some confusion about some bags we have on board so we’re now taking those bags off the plane, and everything will be just fine. Your safety is very important to us and we appreciate your flying United.”
Yes, I’m feeling very safe right now. I am completely reassured that everything is just ducky.
Ten minutes later they close the doors.
A final announcement, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve been cleared for takeoff so please fasten your seatbelts, stow your tray tables, and put your seats in their upright and locked positions. We’ll be departing shortly.”
That’s it. No more was ever said on the matter. Two empty seats on a full flight with no explanation. I want to say that I confronted one of the flight attendants and demanded an explanation before we took off, or that I casually wended my way to the back of the plane to ask the teenage girl what she had seen, but I didn’t. I was chicken or tired, or both.
I don’t know what chain of events led to those people being pulled off the plane. I probably never will. But even if what happened was for "my own safety and the safety of those around me," I feel that I played a small roll in contributing to the erosion of our civil rights. What kind of world is it where someone is pulled off a plane with no explanation and the people around just go about their business as if nothing has happened? Can domestic government-sanctioned "disappearing" be far off?
Is it already here?
