Flying High

You know what I love about airports? I love how they level the playing field for all human beings. An airport is a place where it is totally ok to give less than your best. 75% is aiming high. Pfff. Scratch that. More like 50%. No one tries in an airport. People just walk around sleep deprived, hungry, disheveled, pissed off by the unhelpful people at the help desk, and constantly being assaulted by the loud intercom message for "Mefrraggshdg Adhakawku to please meet the rest of his party at Gate 5."

In an airport it's pretty damn easy to feel good about yourself. There is an excellent chance that you are going to 1.) look better than someone else, 2.) smell better than someone else, 3.) be able to coherently string together more words that someone else and lastly, 4.) fly more under the radar than someone else. You know what I'm talking about. Who hasn't stood in that line-up where some poor Guatamalan dude is frantically trying to explain to the security guard in broken English why he has an entire carry-on bag stuffed with old toothbrushes (something is clearly amiss. DETAIN HIM!). And even though its not a nice thing to admit, we all breathe a little easier as we say to ourselves "well fuck, at least I'm not THAT guy."

And yes there is a lot of bullshit to deal with in an airport. I'm not discounting that. I think we've all been screwed over before by that stupid "100 ml max. for any liquids or gels in carry-on luggage" rule. Yes, like a 105 ml bottle of anthrax is going to be that much more dangerous than a 100 ml bottle. As a general rule, I think any amount of Anthrax is bad. And the flip side of that? A 65-gallon vat of conditioner, no matter how hard a terrorist tries, is not going to bring down a 500-ton plane. Hear that Westjet?! Stop making me fill up teeny-tiny bottles of shampoo every time I fly somewhere!

So we've established that airports are A-OK in my books. Mainly because of the ego boost they give my fragile sense of self. But there's another other reason I love them. Its childish. I admit that fully. Its a reason that appeals to my inner juvenile-delinquent (and by juvenile-delinquent I am referring to the one-time halfhearted attempt in grade two I made at bullying, which ended up with me being the one crying as my "victim" shoved saltine crackers down the back of my shirt and said the F-word over and over). So here's my secret delight - and I'm sure I'm not alone when I say.....

......what is it about being in an airport that really makes me want to make bomb jokes? I KNOW bomb jokes aren't funny. Of course I know bomb jokes aren't funny. Really, I do. But c'mon. There is just something about being in a high security area that makes bomb jokes a little bit funny. Right? And when I find something a little bit funny which I'm not supposed to laugh at, chances are its gonna become real funny, real fast.

Not only do I know that bombs aren't funny, as a mature 28 year-old I certainly know better than to try and make other people see how (my) bomb jokes are (kinda) funny. Especially people standing in the security line. I know better than that. I do. And yet.....

...and yet...

....and yet a tiny bomb joke still seems to sneak its way past my lips, just loud enough for the nearest security guard to hear. **Substantiated fact of the week kids: no matter what time of day, what country you're in, or what previous rapport you may have created with that security guard during the 30 seconds it took him to scan your crotch and pits for various types of metal, it always plays out the same. Smiles instantly fade, foreheads wrinkle in deep concern and the dark storm clouds of suspicion descend. The finger of DOOM gets pointed your way and before you know it, the once crowded line you stood in has dispersed. Crickets. No one wants to be lumped in with the smart-ass that made a bomb joke. No way. And then there's the awkward fumbling around for an explanation of said bomb joke in which you really do start sounding more and more like an asshole. Even to your own ears.

"Well you see sir, its not so much that I think bombs are funny per se, its just that well, you know, its more that we're not allowed to say the word bomb that makes it kinda funny when someone actually does say it, and you're right, i understand that there is a very good reason that we're not supposed to say bomb, you know, because I'm sure when someone actaully has a bomb that's also what they would say, of course in my defense I didn't scream the word implying that I had a bomb strapped to my chest or anything, I more just made an off-hand comment about how if I did have a bomb strapped to my chest it would be-------NO! I don't have a bomb strapped to my chest!! I was saying that if I DID have one....oh fuck. Those dogs are coming for me, yes?......."

Sigh. The day that bomb jokes in an airport stop being funny, is the day I've officially crossed the threshold into adulthood. And not the good kind of adulthood. Not the smoking, drinking, voting, and rental-car-abusing kind. I'm talking about the fiscal planning, Family Circus reading, cat-embossed-track-suit-wearing (because its so comfortable!) kind. So please, when this blog becomes a forum where I post pictures of my feline companion, Mr. Moustache, and talk about the racket kids these days call music, then you have my permission to come and dismantle my internet. Until then, send me any good bomb jokes you might know. I've got a flight to America coming up in the next month and I want to practice my delivery.....