Arriving five hours before my flight, suitcases overloaded, I find haphazard lines forming before the ticket desk opens. People face the wrong way, not conforming to the pre-set maze. Staff fume, rearranging and controlling us. A call goes out for business class. No one responds. The request is repeated. A stern, authoritarian woman points a finger at me, a White man. “Are you in business class?” I shake my head. The other passengers, all Black, look at me. “Any of us could be in business class,” I murmur to the woman. “Apparently not!” exclaims the young man next to me.
John Frame, a teacher, is from Wick, Scotland and has lived in Aberdeen, New York City, Columbus, Ohio, Qingdao, China, and Dakar, Senegal. jrframe.wixsite.com/website