Incognito Bernie during his "quarantine"If you’re an “American Idol” fan, you know what that coveted golden ticket means—a trip to Hollywood and a chance to become America’s next singing idol.
If you’ve recently flown to Japan from the United States, Canada, or Mexico, however, a golden ticket has an entirely different significance. It means you passed the mandatory health inspection on your aircraft and were allowed to deplane rather than being quarantined for up to ten days. You didn’t have a fever (checked by heat sensors aimed like pistols over row after row of seats throughout the airplane), so you earned your golden ticket to freedom. In our case, it took 70 minutes after landing before we were actually free to set foot in Japan.
Shortly before arriving, questionnaires were distributed so that we could inform the health department about our physical condition. Sneezing? Coughing? Fever? Sore throat? Any other symptoms that might indicate the dreaded swine flu? Unfortunately, some of the English was so undecipherable that we had to read the questionnaire in Japanese to understand what was being asked!
Once we landed, we were instructed to lower all the window shades. Was something about to happen that officials wanted to make sure couldn’t be seen from the outside? Or maybe it was so no passenger could send S.O.S. signals. Soon the plane was boarded by a team of men and women covered protectively from head to toe and wearing heavy-duty masks that might have saved them from poison gas. When we didn’t have fevers and our questionnaires were approved, we were awarded golden tickets—sheets of standard-sized bright yellow paper on which were written, “This document is to certify that you have passed quarantine inspection.” Interestingly, it was noted in bold face type that these were “for travelers [who] stayed in any country where Pandemic Influenza occurs.” We’d not heard that the World Health Organization had declared a pandemic.
But not everyone was as lucky as we were. One man in our row—four seats and an aisle from me—lit up the heat sensor. An underarm thermometer was quickly passed to him. Shortly, seven rows—three in front of him, three in back, and his—were all marked with yellow tags (a different kind of golden ticket). Apparently the aisle was enough distance to keep those of us in the middle section safe from his germs, but I was certainly closer to him than many of those tagged. He would have needed to pass right by me to leave his seat. Nevertheless, we didn't argue when we were allowed to deplane.
From that moment, although we didn’t jump and scream like “American Idol” contestants, we did wave our golden tickets at everyone we passed—most of whom were wearing masks like the ones we received shortly before deplaning. “It’s a little late to give us masks now,” I commented to Bernie, thinking how we’d just spent 14 hours encapsulated in such a tiny space that almost anyone would turn claustrophobic. But suddenly I realized my mistake. Japan wasn’t worried that we’d infect one another, but maybe we’d infect Japan. Thus the masks came after we arrived. Could anyone be that worried?
If you’ve recently flown to Japan from the United States, Canada, or Mexico, however, a golden ticket has an entirely different significance. It means you passed the mandatory health inspection on your aircraft and were allowed to deplane rather than being quarantined for up to ten days. You didn’t have a fever (checked by heat sensors aimed like pistols over row after row of seats throughout the airplane), so you earned your golden ticket to freedom. In our case, it took 70 minutes after landing before we were actually free to set foot in Japan.
Shortly before arriving, questionnaires were distributed so that we could inform the health department about our physical condition. Sneezing? Coughing? Fever? Sore throat? Any other symptoms that might indicate the dreaded swine flu? Unfortunately, some of the English was so undecipherable that we had to read the questionnaire in Japanese to understand what was being asked!
Once we landed, we were instructed to lower all the window shades. Was something about to happen that officials wanted to make sure couldn’t be seen from the outside? Or maybe it was so no passenger could send S.O.S. signals. Soon the plane was boarded by a team of men and women covered protectively from head to toe and wearing heavy-duty masks that might have saved them from poison gas. When we didn’t have fevers and our questionnaires were approved, we were awarded golden tickets—sheets of standard-sized bright yellow paper on which were written, “This document is to certify that you have passed quarantine inspection.” Interestingly, it was noted in bold face type that these were “for travelers [who] stayed in any country where Pandemic Influenza occurs.” We’d not heard that the World Health Organization had declared a pandemic.
But not everyone was as lucky as we were. One man in our row—four seats and an aisle from me—lit up the heat sensor. An underarm thermometer was quickly passed to him. Shortly, seven rows—three in front of him, three in back, and his—were all marked with yellow tags (a different kind of golden ticket). Apparently the aisle was enough distance to keep those of us in the middle section safe from his germs, but I was certainly closer to him than many of those tagged. He would have needed to pass right by me to leave his seat. Nevertheless, we didn't argue when we were allowed to deplane.
From that moment, although we didn’t jump and scream like “American Idol” contestants, we did wave our golden tickets at everyone we passed—most of whom were wearing masks like the ones we received shortly before deplaning. “It’s a little late to give us masks now,” I commented to Bernie, thinking how we’d just spent 14 hours encapsulated in such a tiny space that almost anyone would turn claustrophobic. But suddenly I realized my mistake. Japan wasn’t worried that we’d infect one another, but maybe we’d infect Japan. Thus the masks came after we arrived. Could anyone be that worried?
Yes. Without all the details, let me just say that Bernie was “asked” not to come to school the next day, even though the special Friday meeting was the very reason we’d squeezed our trip to the States into less than one week. In effect, we were quarantined after all—sort of—until the following Tuesday.
As a sideline, Bernie used some of his unexpected free time on research. He discovered that an average of 41,400 people succumb to seasonal flu every year in the United States. (There are 11,000 annual flu deaths in Japan.) Considering these statistics, I wonder why all airplanes from America aren’t routinely subject to the kind of health inspections now being conducted at Japanese international airports. Hmmm. I’d better be careful what I write. Someone might think this is a good idea—and maybe the next time I return, I won’t win my golden ticket.
As a sideline, Bernie used some of his unexpected free time on research. He discovered that an average of 41,400 people succumb to seasonal flu every year in the United States. (There are 11,000 annual flu deaths in Japan.) Considering these statistics, I wonder why all airplanes from America aren’t routinely subject to the kind of health inspections now being conducted at Japanese international airports. Hmmm. I’d better be careful what I write. Someone might think this is a good idea—and maybe the next time I return, I won’t win my golden ticket.
