On a recent plane trip I “profiled” a fellow passenger.
With all the news reports of bombings and terrorism I got the heebee-geebees watching a man in front of me on the jetway. In his late 30s, maybe early 40s, he wore blue jeans, a polo shirt and carried a backpack. He appeared “foreign” but otherwise blended in with the crowd.
My antenna went up when he answered his cell phone.
He barely grunted to the person on the other end. Not a typical “Hello” or “Hey, Tom” but a single syllable that sounded like “Dah”.
Then for the better part of ten minutes he didn’t say a word to the caller; he listened. Too intently. Whatever was being said on the other side held his attention. The man didn’t nod or shrug or wave his hands (like I do), not a sign whatsoever that there was an actual person on the other end. Maybe it was a recorded message? When the call ended he quietly placed the phone in his pocket. No “Good-bye”, “See you soon”. Not one word. It was all very stiff and focused.
Right or wrong, it creeped me out.
I’m guilty of over thinking and over analyzing just about everything. I’ve taken people watching to an art form — creating character profiles and developing backstories. Ah, writers. Inventors of something out of nothing.
A host of scenarios went through my head. And not one of them ended happily.
Who IS this dude? Why couldn’t he act like a normal Joe, have a normal back and forth conversation to ease my discomfort? Talk about baseball. Car trouble. Weekend plans. Some sweet talk: “Miss you too, honey.” Anything close to a regular, normal phone conversation and he’d never become a blip on my radar.
Except he didn’t act normal. TO me it seemed that he tried to look and behave like a regular guy. Except the energy around him collided with the other guys in line.
I’m not sure if I did the right thing, but I alerted the flight attendant, who was at this time in the aisle walking in front of me shutting overhead bins.
“The guy in the yellow polo shirt,” I whispered in her ear, “sitting three rows behind us on the left, just had a strange conversation on the phone.” I told her it seemed “odd” enough to mention.
We’ve been told that if we see something we say something, right?
“I’ll alert the crew and we’ll check him out,” she said, all very calm and nonchalant as she carried on, escorting people who can never figure out their seat numbers. Why is this so hard?
When the plane pulled away from the terminal I felt like a complete jerk. I’d accused some man of potentially being a threat to the plane. My stomach flipped a few times in silent disgust, until the plane stopped a few feet back.
The captain came on the speaker and announced we’d need to wait for fifteen minutes or so until the back-up on the runway cleared. This delay got extended another ten minutes and he made the customary apologies. “Typical,” I heard someone say.
My crazy brain raced again. I knew they were running a security check. Or whatever is done when a thin minded citizen profiles a fellow passenger who probably didn’t speak because he had laryngitis or something.
Once the plane was airborne, I was convinced the delay had been my fault. Because of my paranoia. My mistrust. Was I right to say something? Or was I wrong to point the finger based on nothing but a feeling? Heightened fear created from video and sound bites I hear on the news.
What I probably need to do is to get out of my head, and open and clear my heart.
BE F-G AWESOME TODAY!
Original graphic: Stephanie DelTorchio
Quote: Charles Bukowski
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While you are wondering about your direction, the rest of us are patiently waiting for you to say “YES!”
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