I was in Aberdeen, Scotland, on business. It was late in the day, and I was sitting at my desk working when one of my office mates walked in and asked where the World Trade Center was. I said which one? There are World Trade Centers in Dallas, and New Orleans and other cities, but the big one is in New York - why was he asking? He said a plane just flew into the one in New York. Like Steve, I immediately thought "Oh, what a horrible accident!" and kept working. About five minutes later, he came back in with a strange look on his face and asked me "Are there two of them?" It took me a minute to figure out what he was saying, and then I realized that the world had just changed. I managed to call my parents and they confirmed everything. I remember hearing my mom’s voice shake.
Someone drove me back to my hotel and I spent the rest of the day in front of the TV. What most Americans don't realize is that once something is shown live, all replays are then edited to get rid of the most horrible stuff. So unless you were watching live, most likely you did not see the video footage of people jumping out of the towers. However, the tabloid media in the UK have no such compunction. It's like they took the worst of the worst and put it on constant repeat. It was terrible. I was desperate for information, the internet had crashed, the phone lines weren't working, and all I had was SkyNews and their version of CNN. And on every channel, people were falling. I can still to this day close my eyes and see that man and woman falling to their deaths, holding hands, the man's tie fluttering up in the wind. In the paper the next day, a 24 page, full color special insert of pictures - and the man and woman were on the cover.
I got very very drunk on Thursday night.
I flew back to London on Friday, not sure if I was going to be able to get home on my regular flight on Saturday. Everywhere I went in London, people were so kind once they learned I was an American. I saw the line outside the American Embassy where people were queued up all the way around two blocks to sign the Book of Condolences. The outpouring of sympathy was at times overwhelming.
I arrived at Gatwick Airport early on Saturday – nine hours ahead of my afternoon flight. We had been warned that security would be intense, and to expect delays. I wanted nothing more than to get back home, so I complied with every demand, request and order. We were searched no less than four times between check in and actually boarding the plane – and I do mean searched – everything short of total nudity. We opened and reopened our bags. Sharp-eyed men in uniform with very large guns were everywhere. Papers were checked and checked again. And no one complained – until we got to the last search line before boarding the plane.
The passengers for the Houston flight were lined up in the hall, and were patted down one more time before being placed in a glass enclosed holding room prior to boarding. The line was single file until it got toward the front, where it split into men and women (for pat down purposes). The line for men was moving much faster than the line for women, because there were three male security guards and only one female. So these two snotty rich bitches thought they would just continue to stand in line with their husbands until they got to the front and then “Whoops! My mistake!” and just “slip over” to the front of the women’s line.
What they did not count on was me being at the front of that line when they got there.
I had seen what they were doing from the get go, and was not about to tolerate it. I was stressed, angry, sad, worried, scared and looking for a fight. So when they sashayed on over to get in front of me, without even an apology, the little security lady tried to say no, but they said “Oh, but we are in first class.” My comment? “Too bad. You knew damn good and well that this line was splitting up and you chose to try and buck the system. So get to the back of the line and wait your turn like everyone else has been doing for the last hour!” They stuttered and huffed and “Well, I never!”’d and then one goes “But we are in first class!” and I said “Then ACT LIKE YOU DESERVE TO BE THERE.” They stormed off, making disparaging comments about me and my parentage… but damned if they didn’t go to the back of the line. They were the last ones on the plane. I was in the holding rooms with their husbands, and one of them pointed to me and said something to the other one. I wonder if it wasn’t something like “That chick has a bigger set of balls than we do…” cause they both sure as hell were whipped.
So we got on board and took off, and it was the most tense flight I have ever been on. Everyone was incredibly puckered. If someone had so much as sneezed wrong, they would have been beaten down in an instant. When the plane finally touched down in Houston ten hours later, we all cheered, clapped and some of us (me) cried. I cried again when I got out of the concourse and saw Carl. And I wasn’t the only one happy to be home.
Personally, I am disappointed that we have not bombed that entire section of the world to oblivion. Those mountains on the border with Pakistan should be nothing more than the world’s largest gravel pit. And for our so called “Leader” to be kowtowing to those bastards is disgusting.
Never Forget.
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