It's Not An Adventure Until The First Thing Goes Wrong*

My text to my daughters from Frankfurt on the way home from Amman read this way:

“The three German Polizei who interrogated me did not arrest me, so that’s a win for today.”

I suppose that needs some explanation, so I will attempt to explain in an unbiased way.  Except it’s coming from my point of view, so it will be pretty biased, but from where I sit (not in a German prison, so it’s not all bad), my version of the truth is the correct one.

Carol and I didn’t even try to sleep Friday night, as our pick-up from the hotel in Amman to get us to the airport was scheduled for 12:10 am.  Since we all had the same flights, Neil and Mary joined us on the journey that would take approximately 26 hours, from hotel pick-up to getting home.

Getting to the airport was not a problem, as there is not much traffic in Amman after midnight.  I slept maybe the first hour or even 90 minutes, waking up in time to see a desultory breakfast being served, spinning over in the my chair, and trying to doze even further.

Underdressed for the trip, with just an overly thin quarter zip and a short sleeve shirt, I pretty much shivered the entire trip.  The Lufthansa blanket was too small to do any good.

We landed early morning in Frankfurt, with six hours to kill between flights.  So I was pretty cranky when the whole Backpack Security Incident of 2023 (The BSI as it is already known) went down.  

In Frankfurt you have to go through security when passing from the arrival bus drop off to your next gate.  And that’s where it all went bad.  Not really bad, for example not as bad as “the Polizei are pulling their guns and yelling at me in German (the friendliest of languages) to get my hands up” but I believe I could see that happening from where we were, especially when I trolled them with some of my answers to their questions.

But bad enough that I attracted the interest and intense questioning of not one, not two, but three police officers, as well as various and sundry TSA-equivalent folks.  I’m pretty certain seven German officials were involved, but there may have been more.  By the way, even though it was all nonsense, the police in particular, once they took over the scene, were quite nice and calm to me.

Editor: Were they friendly?  

Writer: Let’s not get carried away.  The two Annas, Franz, and I aren’t going to be exchanging Christmas cards.  

Editor: I can see it now: “Dear Anna, Anna, and Franz, remember that fun confrontation we had on February 11th over nothing?  Yup, good times!  Anyhow, Merry Christmas and (German phrase for Merry Christmas)!”  Writer: Ain’t happening.

The TSA-equivalent geek was slow, but when my backpack was going through x-ray, he went on a hunger strike or something.  He sat there, looking at the x-ray of my bag and doing nothing, except every so often talking excitedly to no one in particular.  

Minutes passed.  Eventually a few other TSA-types drifted over, and they all conversed excitedly.  (There was a lot of excited talking going on.)  I commented to one guy they ought to search my backpack.  They didn’t want to do that.  I offered to open the various backpack pockets myself, but that was dismissed, probably because they figured this 60 year old white guy with a laptop and a iPad in his hand really had a hankering for blowing himself up (spoiler alert, I didn’t have that hankering and didn’t even have a bomb in my backpack).

Meanwhile, I indicated to Neil and Mary that they should go to the Lufthansa lounge.  They indicated they were staying.  Their reaction (they were far away) indicated they were supporting me, but I KNOW they really were just curious whether I would be perp-walked in handcuffs.  I wanted to yell, Russell Crowe-like, “Are you not entertained!”  But I restrained myself so I wasn’t restrained.

Eventually a policeman (Franz) showed up.  Then Anna.  They started questioning me, and I kept recommending they actually look in the backpack.  They couldn’t do that until their supervisor showed up.  When Anna 2 (not their real names, but German enough) showed up, the three of them looked like combined, the three of them added up to 60 years old.

Before Anna 2 got on the scene, I realized I could be in trouble just based on the answers I gave.  Oh, the first couple were easy.  “My passport is in the backpack.”  “Here’s my driver’s license for ID” both meant I passed with flying colors.

The next two questions were fine, but it was my answers that caused me to feel like it could be an even longer day of misunderstanding.  When the answer to question 3: “Where did you fly from?” is “Amman, Jordan,” you realize you are naming a country in an area of the world not known for stability.  When the answer to question 4: “Where are you flying to?” is “Washington, D.C.” you realize you are naming a place that occasionally is considered a likely  terrorist target.

 

Channeling Ralphie, I thought to myself “Oh fudge,” only I didn’t say fudge.

At that point, I would have actually understood it if they took me into the secret soundproof room in the deepest part of the airport and beat the ever-living snot out of me.  Heck, in their shoes I would have taken that very action based on my two answers.  (By then, I figured it was easier for them to take me to the beating room than to actually open my backpack.)

They didn’t take kindly to my repeated suggestions to open the bag and look, or for me to do it for them.  Then, of course, when they asked me to tell them what was in the bag my mind went blank. I felt like Ralphie when Santa asks him what he wants for Christmas, little boy!  Then I slowly stammered out the answers.  My camera.  Some chargers for my iPad, iPhone, and laptop.  Paperwork for the trip.  Pens.  

And then, just to be snarky, I mentioned my notebook.  I thought that was a pretty damn good troll, and I got the response I was stupidly looking for – Anna 2 rolled her eyes, sighed, and opened the various pockets and looked into them.  I got a lecture that everything is electronic and I was supposed to pull it all out.  

Not willing to let resting dogs fall asleep (it’s the overlooked stage before “letting sleeping dogs lie”), I noted that I’ve never had to pull my camera out at other airports.  Anna 2's response?  A coolly delivered “This is Frankfurt.”  It crossed my mind to high five her, but I refrained and simply chalked one up for her.  I mean, even in a confrontation I have to give props when props are due.

At some point early in this fiasco, Carol came back over and tried to keep me from losing my temper (I wasn’t going to.  Okay, I walked up to that line, but when German police are involved, I’m not THAT stupid).  And, to give her credit, her hand gently rubbing my back did keep me from blowing a gasket.

Meanwhile, I would occasionally look down the way to Neil and Mary and mouthed “go, save yourselves” but I’m pretty sure they had lit a fire to make popcorn to watch the show at that point.

Eventually, a good 20-25 minutes after my backpack entered the x-ray machine, I was told to go on my way and remember what to do the next time I fly through Frankfurt.

Yes, I thought to myself, I’m going to take every damn thing out of the backpack, even if it slows the line down.  And, after all that, we still had five hours to kill.

*Faithful readers of the blog know that John Passacantando deserves credit for the always great “It’s not an adventure until the first thing goes wrong” line.  It’s an adroit on-point reminder that stuff happens when traveling, whether overseas or in the wilderness.)