California Dreamin' [part II]
Continued from part I
Wednesday, April 26
Still in the Buffalo airport
At security I count 18 signs warning that no lighters are permitted on planes. Mine is in my cigarette pack, in my purse, as it always is. If they find it, they can have it. I can always pop into the newstand as soon as I'm on the concourse and buy another one.
They don't find it, but they do make me take off my light jacket, which has no metal on it, and my shoes, which have small metal buckles. My belt, which has a much larger buckle, is allowed to remain undisturbed — and does not set off the metal detector. Neither does the row of metal snaps on my shirt. There's no logic to it. Once, at a Canadian airport, a small, decorative, metal ring in my bra set off the alarm.
Soon, they'll be making us strip down and walk through a decontamination tent before boarding a plane.
I remain baffled by most changes in security procedures at American airports in the last five years. There's one that makes sense: They used to allow anyone to go onto the concourses. Remember that? So when you'd be coming off a plane there'd be three hundred smiling relatives craning their necks and trying to get as close to the jetway door as possible, and when they recognized their loved ones they'd all stop in place to greet and slobber all over each other. There were always ten times as many people in the airport as there needed to be.
No, it was never like that in Canada. No one goes through security without a boarding pass. It just makes plain old good sense. Not only that, but our airports are designed so that arrivals and departures are on separate floors, so when you're de-boarding you don't run into boarding traffic.
The changes that don't make sense to me are everything else. The extra scrutiny and time spent considering whether to allow my nail clippers to remain in my purse. Making us take our shoes off. Look, if I really wanted to smuggle something small, thin, and sharp in here, there are fifty places in my carry-on that it could be. Don't you people watch Alias? A pen could be concealing an icepick. For that matter, a pen, weiled by a person of upper body strength and nefarious intentions, could be a weapon. And someone with those same qualities, plus training and determination, doesn't need my nail clippers to take over the plane.
Between the time I check in and the time I'm seated on the plane, I have to show my I.D. to three people. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't check my I.D., but why three times? I remember September 11, 2001. Vividly. They were showing the photos and names of the terrorists on CNN while the towers were still burning. Clearly, they had I.D., too.
In the first few weeks after September 11 all the American airlines stopped accepting e-tickets. That's the other one that baffled me. E-tickets, purchased electronically with a credit card that, presumably, had to be verified, was suddenly considered risky. But you could walk up to a ticket counter and pay cash for a ticket, no I.D., no problem.
Why don't you just stop allowing people to carry suitcases onto the plane? Not only would it improve security but it'd speed everything up. I've rarely had to wait more than five minutes for my suitcase to arrive at baggage claim, but I've frequently had to wait 15 minutes or more beyond scheduled takeoff while the passengers and the harried flight attendants try to find space in the overhead bins for everyone's suitcases. I always check my bag, even my small one. It's just polite. Not to mention the fact that it's easier negotiating O'Hare without it.
But I won't be at O'Hare for another couple of hours. I'm still in Buffalo, looking for coffee. I find it in one of the airport's restaurant/bars. I like to sit at the bar in a bar, even when it's too early to drink beer.
"How much is a bottle of water?" the woman in front of me asks the cashier. What I hear is: battle of watter — rhymes with matter. Americans are immediately identifiable by the first vowel they enunciate.
The breakfast menu reads:
Turns out a hard roll, at least the airport variety, is neither. At home I'd call that a hamburger bun.
But the coffee is huge—just what I need. I take it and my breakfast sandwich to the bar, sit where I can see the TV screen, and pull out my notebook.
As I'm writing this I'm listening to the early morning news on the local ABC affiliate. As I take my first bite of my breakfast sandwich the anchor is introducing a story about a "dot com" firm. What I hear is: dat cam.
I grew up watching Happy Days and The Mary Tyler Moore Show on these very same Buffalo affiliates of all the American television networks. Yet when I pronounce Lackawanna, Tonawanda, or Cheektowaga — which is where the Buffalo airport is actually located — I use twice as many vowel sounds as Americans do.
I've only been in this country for an hour, and already I'm having second thoughts about moving here.
To be continued in part III
Wednesday, April 26
Still in the Buffalo airport
At security I count 18 signs warning that no lighters are permitted on planes. Mine is in my cigarette pack, in my purse, as it always is. If they find it, they can have it. I can always pop into the newstand as soon as I'm on the concourse and buy another one.
They don't find it, but they do make me take off my light jacket, which has no metal on it, and my shoes, which have small metal buckles. My belt, which has a much larger buckle, is allowed to remain undisturbed — and does not set off the metal detector. Neither does the row of metal snaps on my shirt. There's no logic to it. Once, at a Canadian airport, a small, decorative, metal ring in my bra set off the alarm.
Soon, they'll be making us strip down and walk through a decontamination tent before boarding a plane.
I remain baffled by most changes in security procedures at American airports in the last five years. There's one that makes sense: They used to allow anyone to go onto the concourses. Remember that? So when you'd be coming off a plane there'd be three hundred smiling relatives craning their necks and trying to get as close to the jetway door as possible, and when they recognized their loved ones they'd all stop in place to greet and slobber all over each other. There were always ten times as many people in the airport as there needed to be.
No, it was never like that in Canada. No one goes through security without a boarding pass. It just makes plain old good sense. Not only that, but our airports are designed so that arrivals and departures are on separate floors, so when you're de-boarding you don't run into boarding traffic.
The changes that don't make sense to me are everything else. The extra scrutiny and time spent considering whether to allow my nail clippers to remain in my purse. Making us take our shoes off. Look, if I really wanted to smuggle something small, thin, and sharp in here, there are fifty places in my carry-on that it could be. Don't you people watch Alias? A pen could be concealing an icepick. For that matter, a pen, weiled by a person of upper body strength and nefarious intentions, could be a weapon. And someone with those same qualities, plus training and determination, doesn't need my nail clippers to take over the plane.
Between the time I check in and the time I'm seated on the plane, I have to show my I.D. to three people. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't check my I.D., but why three times? I remember September 11, 2001. Vividly. They were showing the photos and names of the terrorists on CNN while the towers were still burning. Clearly, they had I.D., too.
In the first few weeks after September 11 all the American airlines stopped accepting e-tickets. That's the other one that baffled me. E-tickets, purchased electronically with a credit card that, presumably, had to be verified, was suddenly considered risky. But you could walk up to a ticket counter and pay cash for a ticket, no I.D., no problem.
Why don't you just stop allowing people to carry suitcases onto the plane? Not only would it improve security but it'd speed everything up. I've rarely had to wait more than five minutes for my suitcase to arrive at baggage claim, but I've frequently had to wait 15 minutes or more beyond scheduled takeoff while the passengers and the harried flight attendants try to find space in the overhead bins for everyone's suitcases. I always check my bag, even my small one. It's just polite. Not to mention the fact that it's easier negotiating O'Hare without it.
But I won't be at O'Hare for another couple of hours. I'm still in Buffalo, looking for coffee. I find it in one of the airport's restaurant/bars. I like to sit at the bar in a bar, even when it's too early to drink beer.
"How much is a bottle of water?" the woman in front of me asks the cashier. What I hear is: battle of watter — rhymes with matter. Americans are immediately identifiable by the first vowel they enunciate.
The breakfast menu reads:
Bagel with cream cheeseThe concept of a hard roll sounds only slightly more appetizing than the bagel, which I have no doubt will be of the doughy grocery store variety, and untoasted. Besides, I'm curious about this hard roll thing.
Breakfast sandwich on a hard roll
Turns out a hard roll, at least the airport variety, is neither. At home I'd call that a hamburger bun.
But the coffee is huge—just what I need. I take it and my breakfast sandwich to the bar, sit where I can see the TV screen, and pull out my notebook.
As I'm writing this I'm listening to the early morning news on the local ABC affiliate. As I take my first bite of my breakfast sandwich the anchor is introducing a story about a "dot com" firm. What I hear is: dat cam.
I grew up watching Happy Days and The Mary Tyler Moore Show on these very same Buffalo affiliates of all the American television networks. Yet when I pronounce Lackawanna, Tonawanda, or Cheektowaga — which is where the Buffalo airport is actually located — I use twice as many vowel sounds as Americans do.
I've only been in this country for an hour, and already I'm having second thoughts about moving here.
To be continued in part III
Labels: Americana
10 Comments:
Sorry, I do not trust O'Hare baggage handlers with my bags (or any handlers for that matter). I pack as small as possible and get it in a single bag that fits perfectly in an overhead bin. If there's no room, I'll let them throw it underneath. But the nice thing about it is that, by that point in time, they're handing it over the side of the plane to the handlers and I don't have to worry about it getting lost in the seedy underbelly of the airport.
Excuse me, MOVING HERE? Where did that come from? Did I miss an episode? What the hell, Sass. Which is not to say you wouldn't make a lovely and talented addition to the general population, as well as raising the IQ significantly in whatever area you choose to reside in, it's just that IT'S CATCHING ME BY SURPRISE! AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!
how do canadians pronounce 'water' and 'dot'?
welcome to the Bay Area--you picked a lovely time to come (it rained all of March and most of April). Hope you have/had a good trip!
My bra set of the airport alarm as well, standing there at 6 a.m. hearing that wand buzz while passed over my bosom (thrice) was a lovely experience.
S'dizzle: Was it in a Canadian airport that it happened? Honestly, I think in American airports you could walk through with a three-hole punch in your pocket and it wouldn't set off their metal detectors.
Emily: Everyone in San Jose kept telling me how it was the first nice day they'd had in weeks. Liars, I said, this is California, it's like this every day!
Cynthia: Like Bond. James Bond. That is, like James Bond pronounces Bond, not like Americans pronounce Bond, which would be more like Band.
Tracy: That's what I've been plotting.
Kapgar: So you're one of them, is what you're saying. :-)
oh, they're not lying! We had a student visiting our lab from South America for 4 months--he lamented that he only saw the sun four days that he was here. The upside is that the flowers and trees are doing now what they did in March of last year . . . .
If you're flying out of SJC, you'll love it--nice short lines, and they're always telling you to *not* take off your shoes.
There're definitely worse places to move to.
I often travel between Canada and the states, considering my boyfriend lives in Thunder Bay, and my personal experiences with metal detectors reflect the opposite. My bra set off the detectors at the Providence airport in Rhode Island once or twice, and my insulin pump sets off the ones here, but not in Toronto or Thunder Bay. Toronto encouraged me to take off my shoes, but some airports in the states don't. I think it depends on the security personnel.
In addition, the accent you're experiencing sounds strictly like a New York accent - I'd hate for the rest of us to suffer because of crazy "New Yawkahs." However, my Canadian friends do make fun of the way I pronounce "button" and "Tim Hortons" - apparently I somehow stress the ort/ut sound.
Sadly I've never been to Canada, it was the LaGuardia airport.
They don't find it, but they do make me take off my light jacket, which has no metal on it, and my shoes, which have small metal buckles. My belt, which has a much larger buckle, is allowed to remain undisturbed — and does not set off the metal detector. Neither does the row of metal snaps on my shirt. There's no logic to it. Once, at a Canadian airport, a small, decorative, metal ring in my bra set off the alarm.
There's a logic to it. The reason you have to take off your shoes has less to do with the metal in them and more to do with the shoe bomber...thus, they want to x-ray them unless they're "airport friendly" (i.e. sandles or keds). You have to take off your jacket, not for metal detection, but also as a standard x-ray procedure. As far as metal detectors, all metal detectors in US airports have an adjustable "tolerance level" to permit some metal go through them. When that level is exceeded, the detector goes off and you get the wonderful wand treatment.
Like I said, there's a logic to it. I didn't say it was a good logic, but then again, is anything related to my federal government?
Why don't you just stop allowing people to carry suitcases onto the plane? Not only would it improve security but it'd speed everything up.
NO FRIGGIN' WAY!!! Evidently, you've never gone through the fabulously unpleasant experience of having your luggage lost on a simple 45-minute domestic flight. I want to be able to take my overhead-friendly luggage with me if, for no other reason, to ensure that I have something to wear the next day.
There's one that makes sense: They used to allow anyone to go onto the concourses.
A-friggin'-men.
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