Stranger Than Most

by SUSAN LAUTZ

I thought I was going to spend Christmas at home with my husband but then my Dad called and guilted me into going up to Kansas. Thus I faced the horrors of modern air travel— stripping down for the TSA, making repeated trips through the metal detector (seems my ear muffs were setting it off) trotting up and down the concourse as they repeatedly changed my departure gate. When I finally got onboard I noticed that the front row was unoccupied except for a man in the aisle seat. “Anyone sitting there?” I asked. “No,” he replied. Score! Window seat and easy exit when we land! “I guess no one wants to be the first to die if the plane goes down,” I quipped stowing my overnight bag.

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