I don’t care how cool you think you are.
I don’t care how tolerant of different cultures you think you are.
I don’t care how well-travelled you think you are.
I don’t care how stone-cold tough you think you are.
I defy any of you to tell me you wouldn’t get a just a little nervous on an airplane if three young men of distinctly Middle-Eastern appearance, dressed almost identically, with no carry-on luggage, suddenly appeared at the cabin door, came steaming down the aisle and took the vacant seats next to you.
I nearly shat myself...
My parents…wizened old ‘Fourbies’ that they be…choose to fly ‘Emirates’ when returning to the UK for holidays on The British Riviera. Their rationale being that terrorists will never attack one of their own carriers, they are quite relaxed about the idea of being the only Yids on a plane full of camel-jockeys.
Can’t fault the thought-process there.
However, when returning to Sydney, passengers on ‘Emirates’ are shuffled down to Exit 4, to be mixed in with the assorted ‘sleeper cells’ arriving on ‘Iraqi Air’, ‘United Afghan’ and ‘Express Libya’.
This makes it most uncomfortable when I’m summoned to collect Ma/Pa Fingers, standing there amongst the thousands of other relatives, the only White Infidel in a sea of True Believers. I find all those beards and moustaches just a little confronting to be honest. Then again Arab men can be scary as well.
And Allah-forbid, an inbound flight has its’ scheduled arrival time put back even just five minutes and the whole pack starts moaning and wailing as one…