by Greg Schmidt
I’m not much of a people person. I am not one to strike up a conversation with strangers. Airplanes are one of my biggest nightmares. Seated next to a stranger for hours at a time…yikes. However, on the last flight I took I felt compelled to speak to my seatmate. The Schmidt family was flying home from vacation in Florida. Both kids like to look out the window so my wife and I got the middle seat on either side of the aisle (ah, the joys of flying coach). By the time someone took the aisle seat next to me, I had the headphones on and was involved in the Sudoku puzzle in the airline magazine. I nodded at the guy and mumbled “Hi” as he sat. Then, burying my head in my puzzle, I managed to avoid the awkward “Where are you heading? What do you do?” conversations.
About halfway through the flight, though, I noticed that the man next to me was unable to concentrate on much. He kept picking up the airline monthly, flipping a page or two and then putting it back.
He did the same with a book he had brought along. He would read a page then put it in the seat pocket in front of him. Suddenly I noticed that he kept picking his cell phone out of the seat pocket and flipping it open to look at it. I presumed he was checking the time. The fact that he was supposed to have the phone off and didn’t was of concern to me (this is a rule I take seriously).
After watching him do this for about 20 minutes I took a greater interest in him. Without wanting to be called a racial profiler, I admit that I noticed that he looked as though he was of Middle Eastern descent. That in itself was not reason to panic. My next thought was to check the title of the book he was reading. Were it called “Terrorism for Dummies” I would have pushed my call button right away. It was not. The title was, however, something like “How Democracy in America Will End Soon.” Oh, oh. Better delve a little deeper into this before making a judgement.
I mustered up my courage and asked him “Is this a business trip or pleasure?” “Business” he said. “Are you on your way out or home?” I probed. “Home” he said. “Where is home?” I asked. If he says “With Allah,” I thought, I’ll elbow him in the throat and then tie him up with his shoe laces just like that guy on 24 would do. (Okay, so my fantasies are slightly different from reality). “Cambridge” was his answer. “What do you do for a living?” I asked, realizing this is why I don’t do this regularly. “I teach at Harvard University,” he said. Nearing the end of my rope, “What do you teach?” Thinking again, if he says “How to take down the American Imperialist Pig Machine that is American Society” I now have two options, the button or the elbow to the throat. “American History” was his response.
Finally getting to the central issue I asked my twentieth question, which was really more of a statement, “You seem kind of nervous,” I said. Which really meant “Are you planning on blowing up this plane?” “I don’t care for flying” he said. Which seemed reasonable to me as the reality was I wasn’t too keen on it at that moment myself.
As you are reading this we all know how the story ends. We landed without incident.
I have not slept well since. My nation has asked me (and you) to be the front line on this war on terror. I have to wonder if I failed my nation and all of you. This role of a terrorism fighter might be too much responsibility for me to handle. Evidently I am no Jack Bauer, What would you have done?
The Reverend Dr. Greg Schmidt is pastor of the Congregational Church of Harvard.