Last Saturday the hotel sent me a 4:30 a.m. wakeup call so I could get to the Phoenix rental car terminal, return my rental car, take the shuttle to the airport, check my bag, wade through security, and make my 8:00 flight. Which turned out to be way more than enough time. A 5:00 wake-up call would have done it.

On the flight from Phoenix to Chicago, a guy was talking on his cell phone as our plane taxied onto the runway. A passenger a few rows up turned around and told him to turn it off–“It’s dangerous,” he said. He hung up and said he was turning off the phone. But as the plane began rising from the runwway, become airborne, I looked back (he was just behind me, across the aisle), and he was leaning down in his seat talking on the phone again. He thought if people couldn’t see him, they wouldn’t hear him. Wrong.

“Hey, turn it off!” I instructed sternly. Another passenger told him the same thing. He kept talking. “Don’t mess around!” I said, sternlier. “The other passenger said the exact same thing. And the guy finally hung up. Jerk.

Last Thursday, while in Phoenix, I stopped in to see my old friend Steve Gilbertson. He’s planting a church called Sanctuary in Cave Creek, a very interesting outlying community in Phoenix–a touch cowboy, a touch bohemian, several touches of other things. After the conference ended for the day, I drove out to the new house they are ready to move into.

Steve goes back farther than any other friend I have–back to junior high youth group days in Lake Havasu City, Ariz. His dad and my dad were good friends at the United Brethren church there. Steve and I quizzed together on some championship quiz teams. He went into the ministry, and in 1989 followed my dad as pastor of the UB church in Fountain Hills, Ariz., also part of the Phoenix metro area. He left there a couple of years ago, and is now doing what he’s always had a passion for doing: planting a new church.

Steve and Donna asked me where I wanted to eat. I said, “Something local. Anything but a chain.” Donna said, “We don’t have any chains here.” Which is fascinating. There’s a Dairy Queen, but that’s it. Cave Creek doesn’t allow street lights, so the place is kind of dark at night; that, too, is fascinating. They suggested a variety of places, and we settled on a steakhouse called The Satisfied Frog. The hysterical part is that The Satisfied Frog is just down the road from a restaurant called The Horny Toad.

We talked and talked and talked, which is what Steve and I always do when we get together. He’s a truly independent, unconventional thinker, and I like to fancy myself that way. This is a friendship I greatly cherish, and which has endured strong for 30 years.

I’m sitting in Chicago’s O’Hare airport, waiting for my 50-minute flight back to Fort Wayne. I’ve been in Phoenix attending the MinistryCOM conference, a really wonderful event. I haven’t flown since November 2002, just after the Transportation Safety Administration (TSA) took over all airport security. My, a lot has changed in that time. Here are some of my observations and experiences from this trip.

• I used etickets for the first time. Booked everything through Orbitz by myself. Very nice. Orbitz sent voicemail to my cellphone with each leg of the flight. For instance, after arriving in Chicago, an Orbitz voicemail informed me that the Fort Wayne flight was on schedule, and told me the gate number and time of departure. I never had to produce tickets anywhere. Nice.
• I loved the self-checkin stations. Swipe a credit card, and the machine identifies you. Put in your flight number, and it calls up your itinerary. Indicate how many bags need to be checked, and then the machine prints out your boarding passes for each leg of your trip.
• In Fort Wayne, I set off the alarm several times, and the TSA guy waved me over to a section for wanding and frisking. At that point I was in my socks, cargo shorts, and polo shirt. No watch. No cell phone. Nothing metal in my pockets. The guy asked me if I had a prosthetic implant, like a fake knee. I said no. A few seconds later, he asked again, “Are you sure you haven’t had a surgical implant of some kind?” I think I might remember something like that. Anyways, a guy came and explained exactly what he would do, and said that when he frisked me, he would only use the back of his hand. Which, of course, made it perfectly okay for a guy to run his hands over my body. The problem turned out to be the multiple snaps in my cargo shorts. Fortunately, I didn’t need to remove my shorts.
• The TSA employees were very professional and friendly. In Phoenix, the guy in front of me handed his boarding pass and a photo ID to the TSA guy at the head of the line. It wasn’t a good photo. The TSA guy asked if he could provide his driver’s license. The man pulled it from his wallet and said, “The photo doesn’t look anything like me.” The TSA official looked at the driver’s license, looked at the man, and then said, “Now I know why you gave me the other photo.” We all chuckled.
• The boarding passes have a group number on them. Instead of boarding by aisles, as they once did–“Now boarding aisles 23 through 35”–we board by groups. Group one is always frirst class, and they board first, the snooty elites. On the last flight, I was group two, and we were the rows in the back. So they don’t go in order, from front to back of the plane.
• On the flight to Phoenix from Chicago, a three-hour flight, all of the flight attendants were guys. One, if he colored his hair entirely gray (it was already partially gray), would have looked like Taylor Hicks from Americdan Idol. And I would have asked him to show us a dance move.
• I had no trouble finding bin space for my carry-on laptop bag. In the past, people lugged aboard massive garment bags and anything else they could carry. I would get aboard early, lest all bin space be taken. But now that they’ve clamped down on carry-ons, I can board last and still have no trouble.