Postscript to Plane Politics


After getting off that early flight back from Vegas, I walked back through our tiny airport, following a slow stream of people through two sliding doors down a hall toward the outside. Twenty feet past the doors I heard an alarm go off, BEEP BEEP BEEP, and the door behind me slid shut as lights flashed and the alarm continued. I paused, then continued on, not sure what was happening.

Just as I walked outside a slim, gray-haired woman commented, “What in the world….”

I said, “I was the last one to get through. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“Ha,” she laughed. “Must be your fault.”

Then she took another look at me. “You were on the flight out, weren’t you. You’re the school teacher.”

Then she called to her husband, “Look, it’s the school teacher!”

Yep, her husband was Old Biker Dude.

I called goodby and hightailed it to my car.

One thought on “P.P.-P.S.

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