But I don't have the courage to.
When the person working at the desk asks me, "Do you have any baggage to check?"
I'd like to respond, "Does that include emotional baggage, cause I've got a lot of that."
I'd like to go through the security line in a trench coat, much like a streaker would wear. I'd also like to wear only the trench coat... like a streaker.
Then, when they ask me to remove my coat, I'd simply tell them that this was the only article of clothing I was wearing (much like a dress), and that by taking off my trench coat I'd be undressing. "You wouldn't ask that woman to remove her dress, would you?"
After some confusion and thoughts of me being some sort of weirdo... I'd like to pass through security with the satisfaction that I didn't have to do what the TSA people said. Some of them really really enjoy enforcing arbitrary rules on people. I want to give them a dose of their own medicine.
Maybe the first time I tried It I'd just wear a tank top and some gym shorts... try to call their bluff and see if they'd check me. Surely, It can't be against the law to wear only a trench coat, do you think?
When I'm on the plane, I'd like to recline without guilt. I cannot do this, so I do not. When people try to recline in front of me I simply strengthen my resolve of wedging my knees behind their seat. You see, it takes no effort for me to do this as my knees are already touching the back. All I need is a little ire, and then the person in front of me becomes enemy #1. Try as they might, their seat will not recline. I'd rather go through five hours of constant pressure on my knees than let you have the satisfaction of reclining. Unless they appear to be taller than me... then I yield out of empathy.
However, the odds of this are pretty small. Standing at 6'4", I'm taller than approximately 99.4% of American men. That means there are roughly 9 million men taller than me in the US, or one out of 16 men. I like those odds!
Did you know, the average height for men in the Dinaric Alps is 6'1". 5'7" for women. Wow.
Once the plane lands (and that familiar ding goes off), everyone rushes to their feet. But we all know that there will be little movement for the next 10-15 minutes. It seems like I'm always toward the back, hating every individual that is in front of me. They were so skilled at putting their suitcase up in the overhead storage, now it appears as though they are trying to disarm a nuclear bomb as they take it down. They look so puzzled. "Get that damn bag out or I'll come over there and bludgeon you with mine."
But really, what I'd like to do is push my way forward with a little "excuse me, pardon me" sequence. You notice how almost any one moves at the request of "excuse me," even when it's to their own detriment. You see people doing this number all the time, on crowded mass transit, at concerts, etc. People move, even when it is in their best interest to stay put. We've been programmed. I'll use their programming against them.
Once off the plane I want to ride on the baggage claim carousel (or is it marry-go-round) and look at everyone's face who was just on the plane with me. I'd like to do that, and to climb back up into that cavernous-black whole where all of the luggage appears. In my mind, once I pop my head in for a gander, I'd see an enormous system of belts and claws, notched wheels and an intricate system of cogs like a grandfather clock. Controlled chaos. Like the inside of a toy/claw game.
[For those of you who think you are good at those, read this
amazing pathetic story]
That pretty much sums up all of the things I'd like to do at the airport or on an airplane. What would you like to do?
Jan 17, 2008
But I don't have the courage to.