An airport vigil and its rainbow of risk

David Judson for TDN Friday, September 8, 2006
Some days are orange. The announcement from every corner of the airport echoes each five or 10 minutes: “This is a security announcement by the Department of Homeland Security. The risk threat level has been raised to level orange. Please report any suspicious packages, bags or behavior to...” This rainbow of risk is not something I fully understand. But I am learning.
I am headed from Washington, D.C., to California on a hastily purchased one-way ticket. And it turns out this, in and of itself, is an indicator of risk. Why would someone want to take a one-way trip to California? I arrived early for the 3:30 p.m. flight. Circumstances being what they are, I am grateful to be moved to the 6:30 p.m. plane without a fine. It's a good thing I am at Dulles International Airport. For without question, this has become the best airport in the world from a passenger's perspective.
I have not always felt this way. I developed a deep relationship with this facility in the years I lived in Washington. I hated Dulles International. There was nothing to eat but fast food. No place to sit but the plastic benches. I used to use a hotel lobby five minutes away by taxi when delayed. But in the interim since my residency here, they built a new terminal. It's fantastic.
This wonder begins with the technology. In recent years all of us have become accustomed to metal detectors, the removal of shoes and belts. But at the end of the line for passengers who like me are in the category of suspicion, there is an even more remarkable technology. I am sure you have seen those bathtubs with the jacuzzi jets down the side. Imagine a vertical version, a sort of stainless steel shower with jacuzzi jets right, left and center. You enter this device and it locks behind you, half the jets spew air while the remainder suck it in. I exit from this sniff and spit engineering and can only compliment the inspector. “This is really cool,” I tell him. “Oh yes, this our newest machine,” the uniform explains with pride.
Later, there is a more conventional metal detector and of course the shoes and belt come off. My new acquaintance empties my backpack. He swabs the insides with a patch of moist fabric and places the bit of rag in what looks to me like a microwave oven. We wait for it to cook and resume our conversation.
“Do you have any liquids?” the uniform asks. “No, the hair gel stayed behind,” I explain. He looks at my thinning white hair. “Looks to me like your need for hair gel is a long time gone,” he jokes. I attempt to laugh at this bit of mirth. He's in charge, after all. And the day is orange.
Once discharged, I proceed to the new “B” terminal. There was nothing like this in my day. There are restaurants and shops and book stores stretching to either end of the long terminal. And let's face it, I have ample time to explore them all.
“The risk level has been raised to level orange,” the loudspeaker exclaims as I order ahi tuna sushi at “Harry's.” This is the first time I have seen a sushi menu at an airport. And it's cheap: $10.95. Can't get a kaşarlı tost for that price at the Istanbul airport. I allow myself a vodka martini. The server (no waiters left in this country) offers me a second, but I resist. “Level orange, better not push it,” I explain. The server nods knowingly and brings me my check while I finish the olive. Time to move on.
A few steps onward I discover a massage stand, the kind with the backless chairs that have you lean forward into a bifurcated face plate. The two masseuses are idle. Hey, it an orange day and I have nothing else to do. I order the half-hour shoulder treatment. The masseuse is deep into my left shoulder when the loudspeaker crackles again. I expect to be once more reminded of the security risk rainbow. But no. “Attention, the Catholic mass begins in 15 minutes,” an authoritative voice advises. I've seen many an airport with a non-denominational chapel or a Muslim mescit. But this is the first time I learn of formal services.
“It's Saturday, I thought they only had masses on Sunday,” I muse to the massage girl. “Probably an airplane crash. They always have services when a plane crashes,” she volunteers. We move on to my left shoulder. The therapy session ends. Again I walk.
There is a book store next to where the faithful are assembling for mass. In the window is a book with the title “Seven Steps to Perfect Happiness.” There is also a new novel on intrigue in Washington by a senator I once knew well. The senator never had an original thought in her life. The book seems to confirm this situation is unchanged. It's ghost-written. The third choice is a work entitled, “Why Do Men Sleep After Sex?” It's clear I won't find anything interesting to read in this bookstore on this orange day in this perfect airport. I turn my attention to the shops.
The Smithsonian gift shop is interesting. There are orange spacesuits with a NASA logo. Kind of looks like the fashion in Guantanamo. I think of a number of children who might enjoy the gift of an orange space suit adorned with NASA logos, they come in all sizes. But at $55 I decide this would be an indulgence. I exit the gift shop.
I spy a “Fox News” shop. So, this news network known for its conservative views now has a retail chain. The wall of televisions delivering Fox News informs me that the massage girl is probably mistaken. No word of any plane crash. There are magazines for sale and I learn that Paris Hilton is to become a rock star. And then I see yet another intriguing machine. It is the “International Newspaper” automat. It vaguely resembles an automatic banking machine. First you select a country on the electronic menu then you select the newspaper of choice. The screen explains that in exchange for a $5 charge to your credit card, it will print any of more than 250 newspapers in 10 minutes. I scroll through the menu to Turkey. There is no “Referans,” but there is the flagship “Hürriyet.” This is worth a try. I surrender American Express. The 10 minute advisory proves optimistic. Printing Hürriyet takes a half hour. But I am in no rush. I receive Sunday's Hürriyet, printed on double-sided photocopy paper of about 75 percent scale. It is a little after 5:00 p.m. here on the East Coast of the United States. A little after midnight in Turkey. I suspect I am the first reader to learn from Murat Bardakçı of the Ottomans' 19th Century execution of its own governor in a failed attempt to bring peace to Lebanon 150 years ago.
My curiosity has consumed more time that I thought. So I rush to Gate 52 with the pages of the newspaper in hand. But it turns out a hurricane named “Ernesto” has wrought havoc on air traffic in much of the country. I have at least another hour to wait. My already foul mood grows darker. The wait seems endless. I find a bench. The loudspeaker echoes again with its nerve-wracking message:
“The risk threat level has been raised to level orange. Please report any suspicious packages, bags or behavior...”