Phil Mushnick
New York Post
September 14, 2011
This has nothing to do with sports or TV or radio. But it has to do with 9/11, and I suspect it’s important.
Last month, Friday, Aug. 12, I was at Newark Airport scheduled to fly to Vancouver, British Columbia, with my wife and another couple, her cousins.
The line to pass through security was enormous, far beyond the point where the mazelike barriers feed passengers forward. The back of the line was extended deep down a long hallway. We got in it, and the long, slow post-9/11 airport shuffle began.
Suddenly, a small middle-aged woman wearing a TSA (Transportation Security Administration) uniform moved along that line, pushing a wheelchair while asking, in a thick non-English accent, if anyone was in need of her help.
No one responded. But she nonetheless made it clear that one didn’t need to be disabled for her to assist one of us, that she was available. Stopping, she even insisted that any one of us hop in.
Really, now? OK, let’s see where this caper leads …
We talked/dared Rich, my wife’s first cousin, to sit in the chair. He balked, but then went along with it.
Zoom. Off we went, the four of us, circumventing roughly an hour’s shuffle line, until we reached the screening stations. Along the way, the woman in the TSA uniform said in her broken English, “I take care of you; you take care of me.”
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