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Refuge for the rational.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

What Freedom? 

I can think of so many ways I could smuggle numerous weapons onto the plane. This isn’t so restrictive. Where are all the bomb-sniffing dogs? I could snort coke in the bathroom and no one would ever know. Gives new meaning to the mile high club.

Now this is the worst part. Through security and waiting for the announcement. I’m in the back of the plane; they’re going to call me last. The children and the special needs go first. Then the first class people—rich people move so slowly. They call me last but there are still people adjusting their luggage and taking up space in the aisle when I get there. I eye each and every one of them and wonder how anyone could want to blow up a plane with such a multitude of harmless brats and car salesman fathers. They wouldn’t, I guess. They would get on the plane and look at the non-threatening people and they would think, so what? What government would care about these people? They would fly all the way to the end and then they would board a flight full of business people and oil executives and politicians and they would blow up that plane. That’s the one that they would blow up. Maybe if I’m really nice to everyone who gets on the plane, that will help. Then, if one of them is a terrorist they will know that I don’t deserve to die. I’m nice and I have things to do.

I’m in my seat now, still musing over whether or not it would be worthwhile for them to blow up this plane. Surely someone would catch them at the gate—there was one guy complaining that they wouldn’t let him take the Swiss army knife his dad bought him onto the plane. If he were really dangerous, he probably would have stuck it up his ass.

I could fight someone with a box-cutter anyway. What could they do? They’d have to be pretty precise to hit the jugular, and that’s really the only way they could do any damage. I’d ask to go to the bathroom…”excuse me Mr. terrorist, but I need to pee”…and then I’d grab something and sneak up behind him and get him. They don’t give out knives anymore, but what about that wire that holds together the magazine flap? Whaddya call that? Or I could use the piece of cloth that ties the curtain back. Just get it around his neck and take him down—I’d have to pull pretty hard. There are a lot of things that would work, probably. So, I should probably just relax.

Unless he had a bomb strapped under his shirt. He couldn’t get that past security, could he? Someone would surely notice the bulge—how big are they? No one patted me down—but maybe they know what terrorists look like. They must just go for the ones who look like terrorists.

These seats are smaller than I remember. My hands are sweating so I adjust the air, but all it does is blow a steady irritating stream at the top of my head. I wonder if the terrorists are sweating. I wonder if they are nervous, if they are afraid to die. I wonder how they said goodbye to their friends and family. I wonder how it feels to know when your last moment will be. I don’t want to know, but I wonder.

How far do they let you get? Do you get to the end of the flight, think that everything is ok and you’re finally there and the hotel room is going to be a blessing and you will order a cheeseburger through room service and get some pay per view porn and call your lover long distance and go to bed early and get a good nights sleep and set the alarm and wake up ready to start the day in unfamiliar territory? And then something terrible happens? Or are you mid flight and there are people watching the movie who take a little longer to realise that something is happening? Is anyone on this plane a fire fighter? Do fire fighters know how to disassemble bombs?

Flying makes me nervous. Next time I’m going to drive. Or maybe a boat—how long would it take to get to England on a boat? I’d like to go to England one day, but I don’t think I will fly. I won’t take the subway either, that’s way too risky. England is cold though, and I would like to go somewhere warm. I couldn’t go to a country that wasn’t free though, even though those countries are warm. Like those countries that all the terrorists come from. They hate our freedom, and that’s why they want to blow us up. Freedom, sweet freedom.
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