Long lines and a loaded handgun

PETER BUFFA

I don’t get it. Do you get it? I don’t. Thursday afternoon, at John

Wayne airport, which was named for John Wayne, a 65-year old Yorba

Linda man named Ali Reza Khatami waited patiently to go through

security then board a United Airlines flight to Washington, D.C.

He looked no different than the other people in the long, slow

line: shuffling along a few inches at a time, making their way toward

the metal detectors, lugging their carry-on bags, trying to decide

whether or not to take off their shoes.

But when it was finally his turn to send his little carry-on bag

through the X-ray machine, the security screeners noticed a big

difference between Mr. Khatami and the other people in line --

namely, a loaded .38-caliber handgun and a 6-inch Buck knife in his

bag.

Much excitement followed.

After the security officers explained to Mr. Khatami how

disappointed they were in him, he was arrested by Orange County

Sheriff’s deputies and taken to another highly secure area called the

Orange County Jail where he had a one-night layover before posting

$20,000 bail on Friday morning.

When asked why he had a loaded gun and a knife in his carry-on,

Mr. Khatami offered a simple explanation: he forgot.

Oh, OK. He forgot. I’m sure that’s absolutely, positively the

truth, but I’m a little sketchy about exactly how that works.

Let’s not even deal with why anyone has a loaded gun and a knife

in their carry-on bag, but at a time when all of us have been

programmed to live in fear of forgetting a nail clipper or a

corkscrew in our carry-on baggage, exactly how does someone forget

that he has a loaded gun and a hunting knife in his?

But the real reason Thursday’s hubbub at John Wayne caught my eye,

and ear, is that there is exciting news for those of us who call it

home base.

Last week, the airport-runners, who run the airport, doubled the

number of security checkpoints on each side of the terminal from four

to eight.

Can you believe it? This is very exciting.

According to John Wayne Airport spokesperson Justin McCusker, the

wait in the security line was cut in half on the first day the new

system was launched.

“Without even opening all the checkpoints -- we opened six on each

end -- we cut the wait from 45 minutes to 20 minutes,” McCusker said.

Actually, McCusker is being a little kind when he says “45

minutes,” but what the heck?

Can I explain to you how much I hope that’s true? No, I cannot.

Tomorrow morning, I am flying to Chicago -- Windy City, City of

Broad Shoulders, that one -- on a business trip. If I get through

security in anything less than 20 minutes, I will jump up and down

and wave my arms and laugh and cry and pump my fist and say “woo,

woo, woo” and probably get dragged off faster than Mr. Khatami, but

it’ll be worth it.

Prior to last week and the new checkpoints, when you walked

through the doors of John Wayne during the morning rush, you were

stopped short by a truly depressing sight -- a security line that

stretched for a quarter-mile, literally, and on the busiest mornings,

doubled back on itself.

It was profoundly depressing, but in a strange way, fascinating. A

line that long, with hundreds of people quietly shuffling along, two

by two, is just not something you see everyday.

We’ve all seen pictures of hordes of people waiting in soup

kitchen lines in the Great Depression, or outside some bakery in

Lower Slobovia that’s about to put out that month’s ration of bread.

But it’s just not a sight we’re used to seeing in the here and now

we call “here and now.”

Most mornings, the line was so long that they actually posted wait

times at different points along the way, as if you were waiting for

the Matterhorn or Space Mountain -- “40 minutes from this point...25

minutes from this point.”

Once you were in the line of the damned, one of the few ways to

entertain yourself and pass the time was to watch the faces of the

new arrivals coming through the door, at the moment they realized

where the line actually starts.

It’s usually some combination of shock, sadness and bad language,

especially the people running late, as they realize they haven’t a

chance in the world of making their flight. They may be just one

hundred tantalizing feet from that gate, but they are never, ever

going to make it.

If it’s any consolation, John Wayne was (notice optimistic use of

the past tense) by no means the worst.

The undisputed heavyweight security-delay champ was, and is,

McCarran International Airport in the city that Bugsy built (Las

Vegas).

Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport in Atlanta, the city

where ordering a Pepsi is a misdemeanor, is a close second. In either

place, waiting in the security line for two hours or more is called

“not bad.”

So there you have it. Tomorrow morning, I will rise with the sun,

grab my bag, make sure I remove the handgun and knife, and head for

the airport.

I will park my 1979 AMC Pacer, walk to Terminal B, burst through

the doors and shout, “Hello, my fellow Sky Warriors! Is this a

glorious morning or what?”

If eight hundred sad-eyed people shout back, “Settle down, shut

up, get in line,” I will really be bummed.

I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs

Sundays. He may be reached by e-mail at ptrb4@aol.com.