I’m on the flight down to Phoenix and have about ten minutes
of battery left, so I’ll type up a little post to put up later. I’m much unhappier on this flight (Frontier resold as Midwest) than I was with both airlines I took over Christmas. The gutting of Midwest Airlines is such a sad
statement about the local economy. I’ve
had my first cup of bad coffee in a styro cup in ages. (The decaf, which I had for my seconds, came in a Caribou styro cup.) I guess I’m pretty spoiled. Even some churches have grown beyond the cheap coffee--much to my criticism. I picked up a
bag of Cranberry Nut Mix, which is basically candy, and a bottle of water for a
total of $5. Not much worse than Open Pantry. (I just typed Open Panty—wishful thinking!)
For only the second time since they opened, I think, I
stopped at the Alterra in the concourse.
It seemed a real Alterra barista was working there; in any event, she
looked awfully familiar. There, I had my
first large cup of coffee in months—as a ceramic mug, and thus a refill, was
not an option. It was the mild, the Don
Zeledon, and it was just great.
I was subjected to the secondary screening. Not even my MoveOn Obama T-shirt—a tribute of
sorts to my Aunt Lynne, who got it for me—could keep me from that. I heard the screener shout “No ring”, so I
wonder if not having a wedding ring is something they can use to flag you. (Though it’s supposed to be random, I’d
imagine they have to put down some reason for having pulled you for their
internal processing—I’m sure they can’t just say they don’t like the looks of
you.) I’m completely fine with having
been screened, and I would rather they erred on the side of excess in airline
safety. However, when looking through my
backpack, the TSA workers examined and commented on my magazines and other
papers (luckily no porn this time). That
I actually do take issue with—it’s almost as if they were looking for something
that would indicate my religious affiliation.
I noted that I had a little brochure from the Archdiocese’s Salzmann
library that he opened and looked at.
And a copy of Barista magazine—the “-ista” part seemed to provoke
curiosity. Luckily, that didn’t subject
me to tertiary screening. . .you know, the kind where the bare light bulb
swings overhead ;-)