The Best We Have

The morning between 5:00AM and 11:00AM evaporated and the final hour was sped up with underwear and tee shirts assembled, passport, aspirin, contact lenses, all brought to the packing zone.  I decided I need to head down early for this international flight.  The reputation of flights into Israel is all rather intimidating.  Good luck if you leave the mandatory interrogation to the last minute.   Adding to this, Israel has recently banned the entry of anyone who’s been to China in the last two weeks.  I haven’t been in eight weeks or more but my passport looks like a Chinese menu.  It will probably mean more questioning, more flipping through, more time.

Increasingly acclimated to the routines of Newark Airport, my wife and I know to park all the way up at the front of the Terminal Three upper level.  I drove down but she’ll be driving back and before she does, he dashes off to the bathroom, that can be found here, and only here in Terminal C arrivals.

 Checking in, the United gal Rosa was helpful and secured me my baggage claim, but she never asked me anything about my recent travel to China.  That is, presumably a big risk for her, as I’ve understood that they can be docked for failing to ask for visas and do the preliminary obligatory fact checking.   For some reason the security check isn’t long at all and soon I’ve made my way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art shop.  “The Met:  It’s the best we have” I imagine myself saying.  I’ll be meeting a person I’ve only ever spoken to on the phone.  He and his girlfriend are to show me around.  I find a nice scarf for her of Egyptian turquoise and kvetch as there is nothing really suitable for men.

My United 1K status I’ve managed for the last dozen years or so will likely disappear this year as they’ve made it all much more complicated and arduous.  And even this meager achievement wouldn’t normally grant me access to the lounge but seeing as how I’ve been bumped up to business, they welcome me in where instead of the usual bowl of apples and pre-wrapped cheese squares they’ve provided a proper, white-cloth dinner service.   Free,, but I still tip the young lady with the thick Brooklyn accent who’d served me.  Security requires an extra searching of my cary-on.  But not much else.   People had made such a big deal about the interrogation I’d likely encounter, I was oddly disappointed, as I made my way in to my seat and began pulling out all the things I’d need for the flight from within my bag.

Tuesday 02/04/20