The safeguards that are employed in airport security policy are found using the “best response dynamic”: Each player chooses the optimal response to their opponent’s strategy from the last period. So, the T.S.A. best-responds to the shoe bomber Richard Reid and a terrorist plot to blow up planes with liquid explosives. We end up taking our shoes off and having tiny tubes of toothpaste in Ziplock bags. So, a terrorist best-responds by having a small device divided into constituent parts and hidden in his underwear. One part has to be injected into another via a syringe and the complications that ensue prevent the successful detonation of the bomb. In this sense, each player is best-responding to the other and the airport security policy, by making it a bit harder to carry on a complete bomb, succeeded with a huge dose of good luck thrown in.

What should we learn from the newest attempt to blow up an airplane?

First and most obviously, the best way to minimize the impact of terrorism is to stop terrorists before they can even get close to us. This appears to be the main failure of security policy in the recent incident – more focus on intelligence and filtering of watch lists is vital. Second, the best response dynamic should not be the only way to inform policy. There are already rumors that no-one will be allowed to walk around for the last hour of the flight or have personal items on their lap. Terrorists will respond to these policies by blowing up planes earlier in flight. Does that make anyone feel any safer or the terrorists less successful? The main problem is that terrorists are thinking up new schemes to get to nuclear power stations, kidnap Americans abroad and other horrible things that should being brainstormed and pre-empted. The best response dynamic is backward looking and cannot forecast these problems or their solutions. This second point is also obvious. The fact that a boy whose father turned him in got on a plane with a bomb suggests that even obvious points are worth making.

Honestly, I’m not concerned about being the 1 person in 10,408,947 to die from a terrorist attack on a flight. Be it an underwear bomb, a fire-breathing terrorist, or a toothpick, this is not going to dissuade me from flying. What I’m more worried about is losing my freedom. I don’t want to be searched from head to toe going through security — it’s just not flattering. I remember when my father chartered a private jet to carry the family to Florida — we drove right up to the plane, got on, and took off.

All these counter-terrorism measures are going to do is pump up the severity of the attacks as suspected terrorists compete for better ways to pass our security. Yet our freedom is still sacrificed. As they say: “Make something terrorist-proof and they’ll make a better terrorist”.

We sped through security, I grabbed some breakfast, and we were boarding the plane in no time.

It was a normal flight. Thank God.

We were wheels down in Washington, DC at 9:02, with our connecting to Albany, NY departing at 9:40. Walking from the shuttle bus to the terminal, I peered up to the departures board and found that we were to depart from the same gate as we arrived. That was easy. What wasn’t, however, was getting our boarding pass. I almost shit a brick knowing that we might be stuck.

Because we were a last minute addition to the plane, neither of us were assigned seat numbers on the flight from DC to NY when we were re-booked the previous day. You would think it would be easy to just stick us in a seat, but that’s easier said than done when the flight is booked solid. We went up to the US Airways representative, presented proper identification, and told him what the problem was. He started biting his nails as his voice went up an octave. He starts scanning the screen with his eyes, his fingers flying over the keyboard trying to accommodate the frustrated passengers before him. To make his job even worse, he’s constantly being interrupted by angry Mexican co-workers screaming in their foreign tongue, a barrage of questions flying at him from all directions, and the time is ticking. He explains to us that our flight is in a holding pattern, giving us time to work out this situation, but before he could get the whole announcement out over the intercom, the angry Mexican chick grabs another microphone and, screaming over him, warns that this is the final boarding call for our flight, 3704 to “Aaaalbeaunie”.

My mom is a wreck, I’m trying to make the best of a bad situation, and this guy obviously can’t figure out his right from his left. He passes the chore onto another attendant at the counter and runs off, presumably with his tail between his legs. This new representative manages to get leagues farther than her half-wit counterpart, and promptly hands my mom a boarding pass without explaining what to do. Just standing there with that ‘oh shit’ look, she meekly asks if she can board the shuttle bus to the plane — the same one on which we rode only 15 minutes prior. She waves her hand and we scurry off to the bus, finding only one other person, leaving ourselves to question whether we’re on the right bus for a supposedly booked flight. No sooner did this thought cross my mind than the lady sitting in front of us turns to us and asks if we were going to Albany. “I sure hope so”, I thought to myself, “I sure hope so”.

Finally. We’re one step closer to Vermont.

We board the plane, a bit bigger than the last one, and I immediately fall asleep. On touchdown, I’m jarred awake and find that I’ve slept through the entire flight. No problem with me. My mom, on the other hand, had a pleasant conversation with an old man seated to her left. He engaged her in conversation while she was walking down the aisle and wouldn’t let go of her ear until the plane had landed. As he was walking away, he asked for a hug. I’d be surprised if he didn’t show up at the reunion thinking he was part of the family after that.

We walked through the jetway and were greeted by one of the nicest airports I had seen in a long time. I called Ann to let her know we had arrived safely and see where she was meeting us, but she was still 10 minutes out. We walked to baggage claim, thinking that our lost luggage would just be the icing on the cake for this vacation. Thankfully, we found both our bags enjoying a leisurely ride on the conveyor.

Stepping out to the curbside pickup area, we were greeted with the smiling face of Ann in the truck, and soon we were off on our way to Sunderland, Vermont — only a short 1:30 drive from the airport. Ugh.

Richard dropped us off at the Charleston International Airport at 5:00pm and some change. There is no parking in the drop-off and pick-up lane, so Richard grabs the bags out of the truck, bids his farewells, and is off on his merry way. We go inside, thankful that I was able to book a flight for the same day.

Nothing could stop us now!

We didn’t even get all the way through the front door before they so rudely informed us that our flight had been canceled. We were told to stand by the podium, but it must have been invisible, because I couldn’t find it. When it was our turn to face the wrath of the scary flight counter person lady, she grabbed my electronic tickets, made a couple of nasally noises and started shaking her head.

“What the hell is air traffic and why is it a reason to cancel a flight?”

Our flight had been canceled, but working some magic, I managed to get us booked on the earliest flight out of our dinky little Charleston airport at 7:32 the next day. At this point, it’s a dilemma whether to call someone and get them to come pick us up, grab a taxi, book a hotel, or crash at the airport. We’re too considerate to call someone to pick us up (Richard had prior obligations), too cheap to pay for a taxi, too close to book a hotel, so sleeping at the airport is the only option.

We found a spot and settled down — it wasn’t cozy, but it would work for the time being. My mom told me to go see if I could find internet anywhere in the airport, but I had no more luck near the windows at finding a free signal I could hop on and wi-surf. Walking through Hudson News on the fruitless trip, I spy something on the shelf that looks interesting. $19.39 later, I walk out with the latest copy of MacWorld, MacLife, and WIRED. I walk back to our seat, marked by our luggage, plopped the three magazines on the chair, and said “There’s my internet”.

Sitting back down, I pull out my laptop and look through my movie collection to see what would be occupying my time for the next half of a day. Around finding “Hot Fuzz” in the long list of pirated (ARGH!) movies, my stomach started to growl — time for dinner and my first meal of the day. I stuffed my MacBook back in the bag and went to the Food Court to investigate. Needless to say, $9.00 for a ham sandwich would certainly not cut the mustard. Scooping up our luggage and mustering the troops (erm, my mom), we made our way through the jubilous crowd greeting their loved ones and eventually plopped down in a comfy booth in Magnolia Grill. Dinner wasn’t what I would expect from an airport; we both had the cheeseburger with a fried green tomato, but the soup I ordered had a less-than-desired after effect. When the bill came, the $27 charge didn’t come as a surprise, but we both busted out laughing as we realized that for the price of dinner and the magazines we could have gone home in a taxi and relaxed. Oh well; it was too late to change our minds now.

Things started slowing down in the airport around 8:00pm as the stores and Food Court locked their doors. By that time, we had found two adjacent benches without arms to sprawl out on in the lobby. I turned on “Bedtime Stories” because my mom hadn’t seen it. She ended up dozing for about 20 minutes, but woke up in time to catch the happy, feel-good ending.

Shortly after the movie, I had to go visit the little boys room, followed by a walk to calm my restless legs. Sleeping lately has been hard enough, but trying to sleep in the airport is pure hell.

Trip Photos

Flight change email came in at 11:15!!!! It said “significant changes”!…This NEVER happens!!! Why with you guys????!!!!

I’m beginning to think I’m the jinx.

At this point, my mom has no clue what’s going on. I’m handling everything so he doesn’t decide to flip out. Well, Ann calls the house shortly after I hang up with her and informs my mom of the situation at hand. Stomping up the stairs, she comes in and starts yelling her head off. I tell her to go downstairs so that I can take care of it. I’m only 18 — apparently that’s too young to take care of myself?

Anyway, I’m using 3 phones, talking with Travelocity, Continental Airlines, and US Airways trying to get something straightened out. A few little half-truths and a dead grandmother later, I’m knee-deep in confirmation numbers and spouting off the credit card number to the woman on the other end of the phone. I think she likes me because she continued to call me “babe”. But back to the story…

After 30 minutes of crying and pouting and yelling and screaming and kicking and bitching (whew!), I’ve managed to (a) calm my mother down to the point where she can manage coherent sentences, (b) made a reservation for a different airline at a different time connecting to a different airport than previously, and (c) upset my father. Needless to say, I’m only proud of the first two accomplishments.

I’m not so sure what I can do about the dreaded C, but on a lighter note, here is our itinerary:

So you’re welcome to track us as we make our way to Vermont.

I’ll have more updates to come and pictures to boot, so make sure you check up with me.