The Airport Debacle_ 2020

What in the world has happened to the Australia I once knew? The Australia where people were friendly, jovial and where the larrikin spirit prevailed?

This is not the Australia I grew up in. I want my country back. Me and many others who grew up in the 60’s are lucky enough to know what I’m talking about. We seem to have lost, or be rapidly losing, the lucky country. Where did it go and how can we get back to the place it once was?

The times they are a changing and I question the direction we are headed in, but that's another story.

However, I must say when I last went through Darwin airport it had improved. Surveillance wise that is. I know Darwin has become mega Big Brother in this way, just go to the city and you will see what I mean, but going through the new screening machines was virtually hassle free. Just stand there for a minute with arms stretched out, be scanned, and walk through. Good to go.

Imagine, years of having to explain that my silver bangles don’t come off. I had put them on over 27 years ago now, and even then I squeezed, and squeezed. They were gifted to me and now they are never coming off unless they are cut off.

Anyway, in contrast, I always knew Hobart airport was limited, but this day the carpark was in the process of being re-designed. For those who are creatures of habit and have been there many times before, like my parents, on approach to the airport there were three choices. Normally we take the road to the left. There was an archway and signs above that did say 'drop off area', but before we could read it, my dad had already taken the road to the left and there was a car behind us, so there was no backing out.

We went the same way as always, except that this time it wasn’t the way we were supposed to go. Dad was heckled, so we told him to keep driving. As we came to a spot before the road turned back around, a security guy approached us. A burly, bald-headed brute with no sense of humour. He said we went the wrong way and pointed us back to the direction we were supposed to go. Nothing broke a smile on his dial. Dad asked if he could just let me off there. Not a chance, 'just keep going and go back around'.

Frustrated, off we went in the right direction, round a bend and crunch! ‘What was that?’, said my dad. Mum said, ‘It was one of those concrete balls.’ Yep, a round ball of concrete decoration conveniently placed to block traffic. I totally cringed inside, hoping that there would be no visible damage to the car when we finally stop.

Around we go, finding our way to the drop-off point. Mum and I got out and dad started to drive off to park the car. Flustered, he drove off with the boot up and I ran along behind to try and shut the boot. The car almost ran over my foot, but luckily, it didn’t. Dad stopped, I shut the boot and mum and I walked into the airport.

Surprisingly, the check through was easy and they didn’t even weigh my hand luggage. Not like the last time when I had to pull my hand luggage apart and hand over half the contents to my dad. This was Virgin, not Jetstar, what a difference. I love Virgin airlines.

But wait! That was just a bit too easy. Of course, something else had to go wrong. It was one of those days. I realised as soon as I approached the screening point that I still had Pop’s pocketknife that I had taken camping in my bag. That was mum’s fathers’ knife. So, whilst it was old and probably blunt, it had great significance sentimentally. I pulled it out of my bag and passed it over to dad before I went through.

What I didn’t think about at the time, was that dad was left holding the knife and couldn’t go through. Before I went through, I offered to take the knife back to the car. Dad was flustered and said don’t worry. He tried to get the security to look after the pocketknife while he came into the lounge area for a while to spend those last moments together, the three of us.

Unfortunately, it’s against airport rules for anyone at the screening point to hold the knife in the duration. No place within the airport to hold personal items while the owner sees someone off. They suggested to him that he walk back to the car and put the knife in there. My dad was 88 years old then. All the flustering beforehand, the middle of the day heat, the fact that he couldn’t remember where he put the car at that point meant he had no intention of going back anyway, as by the time he would have walked there and back again, the time would have gone.

After realising that I didn’t even know where dad parked the car either, I gave up trying to get the knife back so I could run it back. I concede, give my hugs, and dad stands there while I walk through the screening point. Mum is on the other side. And beeeeeep! Of course, I am buzzing. Even though I had done the obligatory half strip, shoes, belt, anything else that might go beep before going though.

They make me go back and try again. No good. They call a female security guard who comes over and puts her gloves on. She asks if I would like a private room. By this time, I’m getting a little shirty myself. ‘just get on with it’. I stand there, mum on my side and dad on the other side of the screen.

She says she has to pat me down. ‘Yes, yes, alright. Just do it’. Arms out, I am patted up and down the legs and torso and a wand is passed around me. It beeps at my bra clasp. I said dryly, ‘my braaa’. I proceeded to tell her how much better Darwin airport was to Hobart because we have the new machines. She looked sheepish and said that they couldn’t afford them in Hobart. Hello, they are doing the road aren’t they? Probably not for the better of the airport goers either I think, as everything is just that bit further away. Anyway, off she went, and I was good to go.

My mum hugged me and said her goodbyes. It was a little teary, and this tugged at my heart strings. Mum went over to the other side of the security scanner with my dad and they both waved goodbyes.

I started gathering all my possessions off the belt. A man, about my age, inside the security belt came over to me. He said he was so sorry about what had happened and that my parents seemed like lovely people. He explained that it was hard in times like this not to be able to help by holding the item for a while, but the rules don’t allow for it.

The tears started to swell as I thanked him for his kindness. For all of the airport stress that I had encountered in that short amount of time, it was emotionally huge, and if there is one person who made a difference that day, it was that man who showed kindness and understanding. Thank you.

Just a simple kind word can make so much difference in the world.

Afternote: This was written to help relieve the sheer frustration I felt at the time even though I could see the funny side of it. It was just before the 2020 COVID19 outbreak when all the borders became shut and social isolation and distancing became the new norm.

In some ways the lockdown brought back the larrikin in this country, and fostered a broader sense of compassion for the lives of others. Online opportunities for socializing founded groups such as the now closed Facebook Bin Isolation Outing group which was not only hilarious, but also caring. Birthdays were celebrated globally and trials and tribulations were shared, bringing back a sense of community, not only in this country, but extending all over the world.

Jacki Fleet