A Little Too Close for Comfort...

I'll start by saying that I've become quite used to different societal norms. I'm no stranger to shows of affection between people that are not what we normally see in the United States, and quite honestly I really don't notice it much at this point. Have I become numbed to it? Yeah, I'd say so. Different cultures, different norms, no problem. Some things though just don't quite translate well for me, and that usually revolves around too much touchy-feeliness. Not that I'm against a handshake or a warm hug. I love those things. Most of us don't really mind them when they come from friends or family members. There is a line that exists for me.

Our most recent stopover in Dubai, en route to the United States, gave me an opportunity to ponder this little matter a bit more seriously. I've grown accustomed to the increased scrutiny of my personal possessions when coming home to the U.S. and have even come to tolerate being treated as a suspect every time I go through with a medical device that is always singled out for closer inspection. After all, I want to be safe when I travel. I do find the "randomness" of the selection process for being wanded or patted down at some airports to be questionable, namely recalling a particular time we came through an airport in the U.S. and we were the only two in sight at security. We were asked to submit (perhaps "asked" isn't the right word) to a random secondary screening. Now, I don't know about you but I don't exactly find two people chosen from a population of two to be a random sampling.

Anyway, back to the most recent event. Anyone who has ever changed planes in Dubai knows that you always have your carry-on baggage screened when you are on your way to your connecting gate. No problem. They're generally pretty efficient and it doesn't take too long to get through, except when you have a huge herd of people with no concept of a queue trying to cut in front of you at the scanners. Still, the overall process goes fairly well and we usually spend less than 10 minutes getting through the screening there. This time was no different, and in fact was better than usual. Most of the time we're heading east, but this time we were on an American carrier heading west and for whatever reason we went in a different direction to our boarding gate, happily strolling through the screening checkpoint in mere seconds. We arrived at our gate to the U.S. government-mandated inspection already under way. Not only were our possessions inspected, yet again (and again, I don't really mind that) but I had a rather close encounter with one of the fellows conducting the pat-down inspections.

Now I've submitted to being wanded and patted down before, and usually it's not much of a problem. In most cases it's a simple enough process that reveals that I wear a belt and carry a mobile phone and some keys. Not really anything I'm too put off by. This time was a bit different though. Apparently the jerk that tried to blow up his underwear in December has aroused enough suspicion of anyone who shows up fully clothed to the airport to warrant a highly intimate encounter. I gladly emptied my pockets of any and all items that the screener detected with his hands, showing that I did have a wallet, an iPod, some keys, a mobile phone and one ball of lint per pocket. No major problems there.

Then my friend put on the smooth move. You've seen the TV shows and movies where the guy is at the movies with the girl and he does the big yawn and stretch hoping to land an arm around her. Well this guy was far beyond such subtle approaches. As he knelt down on one knee to check my legs out, apparently checking to see if I had anything wrapped around my ankles, I noticed a hand creeping upward. The last time another man's hand got to that point I was obliged to turn my head and cough. And it wasn't just the one hand that caught me a bit off guard, but the other hand that was thrust through the gap between my legs and resting squarely on my backside while the other one did its unwelcome exploration of areas where explosives neither reside nor are desired.

Now, I understand that this guy was simply doing his job. I can't fault him for not being thorough, as he may now know me better than my doctor does. I don't envy him his job either, as those parts of another man's anatomy I'd prefer to leave well enough alone and shrouded in mystery. At this point the only thing I can say is that the next security screener at the airport who needs to do such a thorough inspection should really consider buying me dinner first.

It's The Little Things That Matter Most...

Funny how it is that sometimes the smallest things are what make the biggest difference to us. We take a lot for granted overall, then when certain things are not readily available we discover empty holes in our lives. They're not always giant potholes, like those craters that create the pockmarked landscape we call the Doha road system. Many times they're more like the telltale signs of a long-passed case of childhood chicken pox, minor blemishes that we would prefer to be without.

This is a time for us to apply a nice Michael Jackson effect to those blemishes and fill in a few holes. For starters, you just don't realize how much you like having TV playing until you don't have it. We took satellite TV for granted while living in the U.S., then went without it for the better part of a year until earlier this spring when we decided to hook up the combined TV and Internet package through Qatar's sole provider of such things, Qtel. Actually we could have gone with Showtime Arabia and spent way too much money for way too little programming. Tried that right after we arrived here and we were quite disappointed with what we got. And to be fair, Vodafone is in Qatar trying to establish itself by offering mobile phone service, but several people I know changed back to Qtel after a less than impressive experience with Vodafone. However, that's just a matter of full disclosure. The real story is that I am writing this entry while watching Daffy Duck beamed onto my wall, thus plugging two holes in my life at the same time: TV and Looney Tunes.

We are but a short time away from some time outside of the Gulf, now preparing our re-tuned digestive systems for culinary bliss that is rarely found in this oven we call home. I speak of the creature of the curly-Q tail and cloven hooves, the pig. How much we took for granted a nice plate of pork chops or some real honest-to-goodness sausage for a biscuit, but we now find that the highway to ham is at 35,000 feet and frequently means leaving the region. So, allow me to place all American swine on alert. We are inbound and craving what lies beneath your pink surface. Quite simply put, there may soon be a new addition to the U.S. endangered species list.

I am also going to be watching some other people plug a few holes this weekend. We've reached the end for the seniors in our school. They are out the door today. Other students still have work left to do, but we'll be bidding farewell to the Class of 2010 on Saturday night. I've had the opportunity to work with some of these students now for two years and I've found them to be fascinating people. Many of them will go on to great things. At the moment though, before they can continue on to the aforementioned great things they must apply a little putty to a pit. They need that high school diploma, and they will be proceeding across the stage Saturday night to receive them and join the ranks of people who have crossed one of life's first big hurdles: high school graduation. I remember that day, and I recall how big it was at the time. It may seem small in comparison today, but without that hole being filled my life would more closely resemble the surface of Edward James Olmos' cheeks than the ProActiv-enhanced complexion proudly displayed by the likes of Jessica Simpson. Add a pockmark for a missing college degree, a missing masters degree, no teaching credentials, no overseas life, and so forth. Well, you get the picture. I'd be on TV telling the world how much I wished that ProActiv had been available when I was a younger man.

Anyway, sometimes it truly is the little things that make a different in our lives, whether it be TV service, a German sausage from the grill, or a piece of paper representing that you know enough to move on to the next stage in life. I for one will take all of the little things I can get.