Deborah Woehr

This morning started out fine. I worked on a scene for GLT while I had the laundry going. The kids were frolicking/fighting. Everything was fine until my cell phone rang.

It was my husband. He called to ask me if I knew about the terrorist plot that was foiled in London this morning. No. We were oblivious.

He’s nervous as hell about us getting home safely, especially after his father got stuck in Philadelphia for a week after the 9/11 attack. After I ended the call, I walked into my mother’s office, where my parents were sitting and talking. I told them what my husband told me.

My father immediately got online and went to the airline website. Thanks to these assholes, the privilege of taking a carry-on bag will end eventually because these guys insist upon being more creative with their explosive devices. This might not be such a bad thing because people seem to have a difficult time figuring out where to place their carry-on luggage.

I’m very thankful that England was able to stop these guys from blowing up any more planes. The media stated that if they had been able to go forward with this plot, it would have rivalled 9/11. It didn’t end there, however.

Passengers on a JetBlue airplane were detained in Austin for three hours because of a suspicious note, written in middle eastern language, that was found. None of the passengers (many of them elderly) I saw on the news footage looked middle eastern. They were as American as you can get.

Yet they were held outside in 100+ degree heat with no food and water for three hours. There were no reports of anyone suffering from heat-related illness, but several people missed their connecting flights and had to scramble for a hotel.

It’s gotten to the point where I hate flying. I told my father this evening that I’m very mixed about airport security measures. Although I see these measures as a necessary evil, I can’t help feeling that they’re targeting the wrong people.

A plane full of elderly people and young breast feeding mothers is hardly a danger. But maybe I’m being naive. All I know is that I’ll be glad when I walk through my front door tomorrow.