My wife had been away on a business trip for nearly a week. She called me daily, as she always does when she travels. In those calls, we recount the significant and not so significant events in our respective days, each proclaims to miss and love the other, and we wish each other good night. I miss her when she’s gone and look forward to these chats.
Usually, her news is mostly cheery and includes some excitement about some opportunity or prospect. This time, she allowed for more frustration and discouragement than usual. It hadn’t gone well at all. My protective instincts welled up, and I wondered what extra little thing I could do to make her home coming a bit more fun.
I drove to the Oakland airport to meet her at the curb outside of the baggage claim area, as is our custom. I discovered after I left that her flight departed over an hour later than scheduled. Since I wasn’t a ticketed passenger, the airport powers would not permit my entry into the waiting area at her arrival gate. The baggage area where I could wait was not welcoming, and I didn’t want to sit through the extra hour there for her delayed flight. I had no book to read and no access to the magazine rack, which is upstairs. It was so crowded that people watching would even be difficult.
A Helpful Southwest Agent
"Excuse me," I said to the Southwest agent near the ticket counter, effecting as much of the innocent senior citizen as I could. "Any chance an old veteran waiting for his wife can get upstairs? I really need to meet her at the gate.""Well, you can get a courtesy pass at the ticket counter. Just ask one of the agents there," she said. "You’ll have to know the flight number and then just give them the passenger’s name. They’ll let you up for that."
"Ah, thanks," I said as I moved along to the ticket counter, confident now that I could surprise my wife and start her homecoming off on a positive note.
"Yes, Sir, how can we help you this evening?" said the twenty-something, red headed agent smiling warmly at the desk. She made me feel as though she was only on this earth to help me at this moment.
Hoping I would bring to mind warm images of her grandfather, I said, "I was told to ask for a courtesy pass so that I can meet my wife at the gate."
"What’s her flight number, Sir?"
"That’s 2461."
"Coming from . . .?"
"Las Vegas."
"And your wife’s name?"
"Mary Lou Molinaro."
A Senior Strategy
"Yes, Sir, she is on the manifest. And why does Mrs. Molinaro need someone to be at the gate to meet her?" she asked, the corners of her smile turning down just slightly.Foolish man, why had you not prepared for resistance? Thinking that feigned sincerity might not be successful, I sought to project my pitiful senior look. That is a lot of strategy in a nanosecond.
"Well, she’s a bit older than me (she’s six years younger) and she just needs a bit more help now."
WHAT? Where had that come from? Had I just given myself up like a fool? I thought my solicitous, red headed agent’s mouth hardened a bit more, although she retained most of her smile. Had she heard this one before?
"We could arrange for an attendant with a wheel chair, Sir. Would you like us to do that?" she said still smiling; I thought, knowingly.
"Oh, Honey," I said. "She’s much too vain for that. We’ve never been able to get her into one of those. You know how girls are." I said hoping the slight humorous touch would not be too transparent.
"Well, Sir, we are discouraged from letting non-ticketed passengers in the gate area. We can identify her seat on the plane, get a message to the flight attendants, and tell her an attendant with a wheelchair will escort her to the baggage area where you could meet her. We’d be happy to do that for you, Sir."
I wondered how anyone holds a smile this long?
A Freightening Image
I considered my young-looking wife, teeth bared, glaring back at the flight attendant and then at me for the humiliation I would have caused her. In too deep to turn around now, I plunged ahead."Well," I said still uncertain of what to come up with, "she’s starting to get a little confused now, too. She doesn’t handle the unexpected very well. It would be much more reassuring for her to see me there at the gate. Just not sure she would react well to this new situation." I had instinctively reached for that combined look of concern and sadness. I think I added a little sigh of regret as though I were a dutiful husband saddled with a dependant, addled, immobile, elderly wife.
Red gave me just enough of a pause to worry me a bit more, I think just enough to let me know that she got the con and was teetering on playing along anyway or calling security.
"Okay, Sir. I’ll print this up and get you to sign it. Can I see a picture ID, please?" she said, no longer smiling.
The relief was palpable, but noticed by only the two of us. I had caught a break. As I walked away from the counter, courtesy pass in hand, I considered how best to exploit this senior citizen sympathy shtick to full advantage in other situations. I thought it possible to play this further for more than just discounted theater tickets, for which I actually do qualify.
Minus shoes, belt, watch, cell phone, and keys; I went through the security checkpoint with no alarms going off and no questions asked. I showed the courtesy pass and my ID as though I were confident that this was routine. The guardian of airline safety assigned to confront me, wrestle me to the ground, and cuff me evidently did not view me as a threat to national security at the moment, so he nodded me through.
While putting on my shoes and reorganizing myself, I thought of the laugh Mary Lou and I would have over my claiming her to be an elderly lady needing anyone’s arm upon which to lean. She goes to Curves every day and looks to be about 15 years younger than I do. This would be good.
Yet, I was still considering whether or not some camera might be monitoring my every step. I still had the feeling that I had to continue the ruse to avoid apprehension and confinement.
'I’m close now,' I thought, 'but not quite there.'
"Oh, I didn’t know you would be at the gate to meet me." Mary Lou exclaimed, shouted really. I scanned the room quickly. My word, she looked beautiful, vibrant, and worst of all considering the situation, young.
"How did you manage this?" she asked.
She had been comforted and made to relax with a drink or two before and during the flight. Her seemingly younger voice was an octave higher and a few decibels louder than usual as she leaned into me like an excited and completely coherent girl.
I couldn’t help it; I started to relax. We talked and laughed on our way to the escalator. We walked to the baggage area, my arm about her shoulder, her arm about my waist, an elderly man and his younger wife.
Still, I gave one last look around like that guy in the noir films who thinks someone's tailing him.
"Tell ya when we get out of here," I said.