There are occasions in life where you plan for one thing and The Universe, or God, takes you on a side trip, or perhaps a completely new and unintended direction where you see and experience life as it wants you to.
Then I had such an interesting experience on my last business trip. I believe the dream I had before I left was directly tied to the trip. I’ll write about the dream later, but first the trip —
Note 1: All the names of people and places are changed in order to protect the privacy of my friends, customers, and, public employees.
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I left on Tuesday morning; by the time I returned Saturday, it felt like I had been on a guided tour of something – something that wasn’t explained and left for me to puzzle out on my own.
I needed to decompress when I got back home to reflect on all that had happened, so I turned on the TV and found a Mystery Theater episode of “Detective Zen.” Television is no longer an everyday experience for me. I’ve seen so many fictional stories they are beginning to look too similar to shows I’ve already seen.
Allowing my mind to wander as the show dFprofilerroned in the background, my eyes seeing but not focusing, I heard interesting dialog and was continually drawn in while at the same time I kept wondering about what was going on the last several days of my life.
Detective Zen is Italian. A man known for his integrity and placed in the impossible position of negotiating a hostage release of one of Italy’s top industrialists while working for a puritanical temporary chief of police. He’s given an assistant from a powerful family with political ties who suggests it would be best if Zen blew the case in order to place blame on others.
The family of the kidnapped patriarch knows no limit to personal choice and has never had to solve a problem of their own before this.
An interoffice romance and a political champion who gives Zen a suitcase containing € 5,000,000 in unmarked and untraceable bills complicates the choices this virtuous man must make.
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My former colleague ”Martino” (Marty) is first generation Italian, his parents having come over from Southern Italy. Marty had signed up for a class I was scheduled to teach in Oklahoma City. We were looking forward to spending time together as we had not talked since my layoff in 2007.
Information Technology, or IT, can be a small world of its own and we laughed considering that of all the companies and positions within those companies the two of us could randomly wind up as colleagues again.
Note: 2 A theme of the paranormal experience is that there are no accidents. Random events may only appear random.
Marty would gush with emotion and enthusiasm each and every time we talked. He recently left our former employer after, as another of our co-workers speculated, “I think Marty’s BS Bucket overflowed one too many times.”
Marty confirmed this when we met again during this trip. The workload was horrendous, incentive goals were impossible to achieve, and in addition to all the unimaginable dysfunctional nature of a large organization, instructors were basically being told to become an uncompensated arm of the sales force.
Our former employer did help him earn his doctorate very recently, yet he was told there was no opportunity for advancement. The drop that overflowed his bucket was a simple phone call with yet one more bit of insanity.
He looked at me and said, “You were able to ask the questions on our team calls which all of us wanted to, but didn’t dare. Right before …” Here he stopped and made a motion I’m sure he learned as a child – moving his thumb across his throat from right to left and making a “kkkkkkkkcht” sound, “… you and the others were let go.”
“Did management ever answer the questions?” I inquired.
“No!”
I shrugged in response.
“But you asked the questions, Jeff! That’s what was so great!”
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On the way out to Oklahoma I had a chance encounter with a TSA officer (apparently a recent graduate of the Behavior Detection Program) who approached me when I got to the boarding area. He was several inches shorter than me, had neat curly black hair, and appeared to be of Italian descent. When you consider Marty’s heritage that makes one more interesting coincidence to consider.
In a happy friendly manner he asked where I was going.
I am not used to announcing my destination to strangers out in the open and stumbled. “West… then south … Oklahoma.” In my business life I work on the periphery of IT security, a very minor position in a minor domain of the industry. Ne’er the less, bits of security practices have rubbed off on me.
I took a seat in the gate lounge preparing to log onto the internet where he began to circle around me. On start-up, Windows decided to apply patches which included 48 registry updates.
Every few minutes the officer would walk past so closely I was forced to move my legs. He didn’t say anything but was trying to get me to look at him. I didn’t want to play games.
When Windows finally came up the network icon was missing from the system tray and I had to struggle with that. I briefly wondered if someone could have planted a Trojan on my computer. The timing made it suspect. I’m not paranoid you understand, just cautious.
The scene was starting to remind me of a long-ago night in a Greek bar when the secret police dropped in to check things out, or the time in the Carolinas when an old friend and I were driving around looking for another friend’s home late at night asking directions from rural people we did not know.
While trying to get my laptop back to an operational condition, two other TSA personnel took a position along the wall near the main corridor about 40 feet away. They actually looked like children, about as tall as “The Profiler,” maybe 20 years old, who wouldn’t be able to handle anything approaching what was about to happen. I didn’t stare, only glanced and didn’t particularly care whether they were monitoring me or not. I did feel the vibe, though, and would not be surprised.
Fortunately, this remains The United States where law enforcement has limits, so I was not concerned about what might happen. I’ve read an article saying one thing that distinguishes a U.S. citizen from people of other nationalities is we are not afraid of our police officers. I know … I know…. TSA screeners are not part of our police force, but they do represent an arm of our security forces, so what I wrote still stands.
By the time my computer stabilized (I never did get to connect to the internet), it was almost time for my flight to board, so I packed up and headed for the restroom. “The Children” stiffened and looked nervously at one another as I walked past them and turned into corridor.
The first restroom was right around the corner. A female custodial supervisor walked in front of me when I got there. Thank you, Universe. I thought with a touch of sarcasm and recalled what my mentors taught, There are no accidents.
The Profiler was already on me – walking so close and in step with me that parts of his body were well within my aura space – one to two inches at most, spouting loud enthusiastic pleasantries like, “Hi! How are you! “Where’re ya going?”
Before I could answer he added, “I’ve been watching you,”
“I know,” I said, continuing to walk towards the next restroom about 30 feet further, “I saw you hovering around me.” An image formed in my mind visualizing him as a combination happy miniature puppy/mosquito.
All this happened in seconds.
“I wasn’t hovering,” he began earnestly, then letting his frustration show added in a sincere voice, “I’m just doing my job.”
I answered his questions – I can’t remember them well, in part because it all unfolded so fast and in part because I am out of practice. It’s been years since I’ve been in those situations.
Since he had not formally engaged me, I didn’t feel obligated to tell him my life’s story. I also knew anything I did say would certainly lead to more intense questioning in the wrong direction. Wrong because his assumptions were in error and wrong because I’m not what he was thinking I was. Plus, any extra information I gave would probably cause me to miss my flight due to the time it would take for him to untangle his beliefs from reality.
When we arrived outside the second restroom, I said, “I have to use the restroom. Is that OK?” He may have nodded and said yes. In any event he didn’t try to stop me.
On return to the corridor, The Children were by a pillar on the far side. The Profiler was about halfway across and on my left to block my exit if I ran and asked in an oh-so happy voice, “Can I ask you a question?” Now his tone reminded me of the rip-off artists and beggars you meet on city streets around the world.
Readers who know me and have heard me annoyed on a business call can imagine my tone when I answered, “You can ask me anything you want.”
The Children moved in closer following their superior, not quite sure what to do and looking confused. The Profiler asked for my boarding pass. I reached into my gym bag and gave it to him.
“OK, Jeff. I see your going to Chicago. I need to see your ID. “
My wallet was in a zippered vest pocket and takes two hands to get to, so I allowed my gym bag to fall to the floor.
This is not the smartest thing to do in some settings, but I honestly didn’t care. My wife and I have given and given up so much during our lives, especially with this last recession, that it doesn’t matter what happens to me. I would like to think my decision to act from a point of personal power, rather than fear, is an example others will follow.
Friends and I used to joke about having to produce travel papers like the people of the Stalinist and Nazi eras. It’s not so funny anymore.
I was focused on The Profiler. I knew The Children were moving in, again it wasn’t important. Whatever was about to happen was already in motion and I certainly was not going to resist anything they did. Worst case, my wife becomes a rich widow, right?
I have no arrest record, am a fairly decent human, and traveling lawfully on business. There wasn’t much they could do, especially out in the open with so many other travelers turning to watch.
I kept my hands close to my chest, worked the vest’s zipper and produced my driver’s license. He gave it a cursory inspection and said, “Have a nice flight.”
The Children remained looking confused, The Profiler never lost his smile, and I made it to the gate in time to join my boarding group as they were moving to the jet bridge.
Sure, it all could have been avoided. The problem is I’m a dumb American who’s too stupid to know how to act like a detainee. Next time I encounter a profiler, I’ll ask if they are being formal. I don’t do well with the false and insincere chumminess I went through. — Ask the legal questions and I’ll answer them honestly or plead the 5th amendment.
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The trip back was uneventful. I opted out of the full body scanner as I’ve been doing recently, and had a thorough professional pat-down. The a conveyor’s scanner operator found a water bottle in one of my bags. With a 4:30 a.m. wake-up, I’d forgotten about that one. No problem. The TSA screener giving me the pat down found it an didn’t make me wait for a rescan of my bag.
My three Italian’s remain flowing in and out of my consciousness this week as we celebrate our nation’s independence: Marty, The Profiler, and Detective Zen; the ethical and honest man placed in position where one misstep could ruin his career and reputation.
Thank you Universe. You do look out for me.
I’ll write about the dream that preceded the incident next time.
Best,
– Jeffrey A. Limpert
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References:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zen_%28TV_series%29
Image Information:
World_Map_1689
Public Domain
https://wikimediafoundation.org/wiki/File:World_Map_1689.JPG
Amazon – Unfolding: Awakening