The Rosie Effect
Page 94
Almost immediately, conversations commenced around us.
‘Is there some mechanical problem?’ I asked Aaron.
‘It’s going to take us about forty minutes to get back to New York and deplane. I’ve got a wife and kids. Just tell me, am I going to see them again?’
If it was not for the evidence of the plane turning back, I would have insisted on a more thorough examination of Aaron’s ID. Instead I asked, ‘What’s happening?’
‘Pregnant woman buys a ticket home, checks three big bags. Man known to the airline for unusual behaviour follows her without any bags, acts suspiciously, then tries to get off the plane before it leaves. Gets agitated when he’s refused. Then he prays out loud in a foreign language. That was plenty—but now you tell me she’s leaving you. What would you make of that?’
‘I’m not skilled at analysing human motivations.’
‘I wish I was. I don’t know if they’ve got it wrong or if we’ve turned around in time. Or if you’re the coolest guy I’ve ever met, sitting here chatting while your life ticks away.’
‘I don’t understand. What is the nature of the danger?’
‘Mr Tillman, have you packed a bomb in your wife’s bags?’
Incredible. They had profiled me as a terrorist. On reflection, it was not incredible. Terrorists are not exactly average. My non-standard behaviour was reasonably interpreted as increasing the probability I would do something else nonstandard, such as commit mass murder because my wife was leaving me.
It was flattering to be judged as cool, even if on a false premise. But now a planeload of passengers was returning to New York. I suspected the relevant authorities would want to blame me in some way.
‘There is no bomb. But I would advise you to assume I am lying.’ I would not want a marshal to rely on the word of a suspected terrorist in deciding whether there was a bomb on board. ‘Assuming I am telling the truth, and there is no bomb, have I done anything illegal?’
‘Not as far as I can see. But I’d be willing to bet on TSA finding something.’ He leaned back. ‘Tell me the story. I’m not going anywhere. And I’ll try to work out if we’re all going to die.’
I tried to think of some way of reassuring him.
‘Surely if there were a bomb, the scanners would have detected it.’
‘We like to think so, but you can draw your own conclusions.’
‘If I wanted to kill my wife, I could have done it without killing a planeload of people. In our home. With my bare hands. Or a variety of domestic items. I could have made it look like an accident.’ I looked into his eyes to demonstrate my sincerity.
As Aaron the Marshal requested, I told my story. It was difficult to know where to start. Numerous events required context for full understanding, but I estimated that there was insufficient time to include the complete story of my life prior to becoming a terrorism suspect. I began with my initial meeting with Rosie, since the events of interest to Aaron were Rosie-related. Predictably, this meant leaving out important background information.
‘You’re saying basically that before you met your wife, there was no one else.’
‘If “basically” means “excluding dates that did not lead to relationships”, the answer is yes.’
‘First time lucky,’ he said. ‘I mean, she’s a good-looking lady.’
‘Correct. She vastly exceeded any expectations I had for a partner.’
‘You thought she was out of your league?’
‘Correct. Perfect metaphor.’
‘So you didn’t think you deserved her. Now you’ve got the chance for a family. Mr Don Tillman, husband and father, that’s another league again. You think you’re up to playing in it?’
‘I’ve done considerable research on parenthood.’
‘There you go. Overcompensating. If I was a motivational speaker, I’d have some advice for you.’
‘Presumably. It would be your job to motivate me.’
‘What I would say is you haven’t visualised it. If you want something you’ve got to visualise it. You’ve got to see yourself where you want to be, and then you can go get it. I was a security guard, going nowhere, when I heard about the air marshals’ jobs after 9/11. So I visualised it and here I am. But without the vision, nix.’
One thing I had learned about pregnancy was that there was no shortage of advice.
Rosie slept through my conversation with Aaron and the agitated conversation of other passengers, but was woken by the announcement to prepare for landing.
‘Wow. I slept all the way to LA,’ she said.
‘Incorrect. We’re returning to New York. There’s a suspected terrorist on board.’
Rosie looked frightened and grabbed my hand.
‘No cause for fear,’ I said. ‘It’s me.’ It struck me that Rosie and I were probably the only people on the plane who were not terrified.
When we landed in New York, Rosie and I were taken to separate interrogation rooms while her bags were checked. It took a long time and I was left alone. I decided to use the opportunity to visualise being a parent.
I am not good at visualisation. I do not have a graphic representation of the streets of New York in my brain, or an instinctive sense of direction. But I can list the streets, the intersections, the landmarks and the subway stations, and can read the orientation information—14 St & 8 Av SE Corner—when I exit the subway. It seems equally effective.
‘Is there some mechanical problem?’ I asked Aaron.
‘It’s going to take us about forty minutes to get back to New York and deplane. I’ve got a wife and kids. Just tell me, am I going to see them again?’
If it was not for the evidence of the plane turning back, I would have insisted on a more thorough examination of Aaron’s ID. Instead I asked, ‘What’s happening?’
‘Pregnant woman buys a ticket home, checks three big bags. Man known to the airline for unusual behaviour follows her without any bags, acts suspiciously, then tries to get off the plane before it leaves. Gets agitated when he’s refused. Then he prays out loud in a foreign language. That was plenty—but now you tell me she’s leaving you. What would you make of that?’
‘I’m not skilled at analysing human motivations.’
‘I wish I was. I don’t know if they’ve got it wrong or if we’ve turned around in time. Or if you’re the coolest guy I’ve ever met, sitting here chatting while your life ticks away.’
‘I don’t understand. What is the nature of the danger?’
‘Mr Tillman, have you packed a bomb in your wife’s bags?’
Incredible. They had profiled me as a terrorist. On reflection, it was not incredible. Terrorists are not exactly average. My non-standard behaviour was reasonably interpreted as increasing the probability I would do something else nonstandard, such as commit mass murder because my wife was leaving me.
It was flattering to be judged as cool, even if on a false premise. But now a planeload of passengers was returning to New York. I suspected the relevant authorities would want to blame me in some way.
‘There is no bomb. But I would advise you to assume I am lying.’ I would not want a marshal to rely on the word of a suspected terrorist in deciding whether there was a bomb on board. ‘Assuming I am telling the truth, and there is no bomb, have I done anything illegal?’
‘Not as far as I can see. But I’d be willing to bet on TSA finding something.’ He leaned back. ‘Tell me the story. I’m not going anywhere. And I’ll try to work out if we’re all going to die.’
I tried to think of some way of reassuring him.
‘Surely if there were a bomb, the scanners would have detected it.’
‘We like to think so, but you can draw your own conclusions.’
‘If I wanted to kill my wife, I could have done it without killing a planeload of people. In our home. With my bare hands. Or a variety of domestic items. I could have made it look like an accident.’ I looked into his eyes to demonstrate my sincerity.
As Aaron the Marshal requested, I told my story. It was difficult to know where to start. Numerous events required context for full understanding, but I estimated that there was insufficient time to include the complete story of my life prior to becoming a terrorism suspect. I began with my initial meeting with Rosie, since the events of interest to Aaron were Rosie-related. Predictably, this meant leaving out important background information.
‘You’re saying basically that before you met your wife, there was no one else.’
‘If “basically” means “excluding dates that did not lead to relationships”, the answer is yes.’
‘First time lucky,’ he said. ‘I mean, she’s a good-looking lady.’
‘Correct. She vastly exceeded any expectations I had for a partner.’
‘You thought she was out of your league?’
‘Correct. Perfect metaphor.’
‘So you didn’t think you deserved her. Now you’ve got the chance for a family. Mr Don Tillman, husband and father, that’s another league again. You think you’re up to playing in it?’
‘I’ve done considerable research on parenthood.’
‘There you go. Overcompensating. If I was a motivational speaker, I’d have some advice for you.’
‘Presumably. It would be your job to motivate me.’
‘What I would say is you haven’t visualised it. If you want something you’ve got to visualise it. You’ve got to see yourself where you want to be, and then you can go get it. I was a security guard, going nowhere, when I heard about the air marshals’ jobs after 9/11. So I visualised it and here I am. But without the vision, nix.’
One thing I had learned about pregnancy was that there was no shortage of advice.
Rosie slept through my conversation with Aaron and the agitated conversation of other passengers, but was woken by the announcement to prepare for landing.
‘Wow. I slept all the way to LA,’ she said.
‘Incorrect. We’re returning to New York. There’s a suspected terrorist on board.’
Rosie looked frightened and grabbed my hand.
‘No cause for fear,’ I said. ‘It’s me.’ It struck me that Rosie and I were probably the only people on the plane who were not terrified.
When we landed in New York, Rosie and I were taken to separate interrogation rooms while her bags were checked. It took a long time and I was left alone. I decided to use the opportunity to visualise being a parent.
I am not good at visualisation. I do not have a graphic representation of the streets of New York in my brain, or an instinctive sense of direction. But I can list the streets, the intersections, the landmarks and the subway stations, and can read the orientation information—14 St & 8 Av SE Corner—when I exit the subway. It seems equally effective.
