Guardrails? Who Needs Them.

Once again it's time for me to share with you (all 3 of you) something interesting and insightful from my life. Unfortunately, it's been as dull as a letter opener, so I'll have to borrow something exciting from someone else's. Today's blog is about the irony of life, and how it can be used to gain appreciation for an otherwise meaningless existance.
It was with great pride and enthusiasm that my friend Rob showed off his new truck to me. After giving him the obligatory shot for not supporting one of the American auto makers, I congratulated him on his wise purchase. When I asked him how much he got for his old one, he proceeded to tell me about the wreck.
Rob was returning from Tampa late one night, after yet, another uneventful blind date. Tired and in a hurry to get back home, he had just about convinced himself that this was the last time he would drive long distance to one of these, when a set of headlights seem to appear out of nowhere. It took Rob about 3 seconds to realize that this car was heading north on the southbound side of interstate 75, and that a head on collision was imminent. With a sudden jerk of the wheel, he avoided certain death, only to realize that now, his life was officially, "out of control." In an attempt to regain control, he oversteered slightly, so that the truck slid sideways and was plummeting at 75 mph into the dark unknowable future. Slipping off the highway and onto the grassy median, Rob braced himself for the possibility of a high speed roll over crash. To the contrary, Rob soon realized that vehicle was quite stable, but was inching closer and closer to the headlights of the north bound traffic. Instinctively, he closed his eyes. Who wants to see their own death? Or maybe it was to say one last solemn prayer before meeting his maker face to face. Anyway, the truck slamed into something hard, but not as violently as he had anticipated.
The anxiety, adrenaline and fear that had commandeered the steering wheel of his life seemed to release its grip as Rob regained his senses. He was stopped. His truck was mangled up against a guard rail. It had prevented him from careening into the oncoming traffic. He was alive and unhurt!
These guardrails had just been installed. I noticed them going in, but never gave them a second thought. My friend however admitted to me that he had been complaining about them since they first appeared. He remembered reading that the cost for our county alone was like $12 million. Several times since, he had grumbled to himself while driving down the highway, about how expensive they were going to be to maintain. No longer could a large gang mower alone do the job, but now, someone would have to hand mow around each post and under each rail. He was absolutely right, but....
What all this means I'm not quite sure, accept that I'm glad that Rob is still alive. And the next time that your life gets sideways, remember that there maybe some method behind the madness that surrounds you.

TSA Blues

In the interest of national security and the war on terror, it's time for me to weigh in on the issue of profiling passengers. I was under the impression that profiling was illegal, or at least strongly discouraged by the Transportation Safety Administration. After talking with a friend who had just tried to get through security at JFK in New York, I found out that I had been sadly mistaken.

Don't get me wrong, I don't have any really strong opinions or feelings - for or against profiling. I figure that they know what they're doing, and I certainly wouldn't want them to offend anyone. Like the time that my wife and I tried to make a connection in NY after a 14 hour flight from Istanbul on our 25th anniversary, and the woman at the ticket counter gave my wife her boarding pass, only to tell me that the gate was closed. Which means, "you'll have to take another flight to another airport that is 175 miles from home, and then, wait there until you're able to inconvenience some friend or family member into picking you up and taking you home. Have a nice day." But I digress.

My friend contends that he was singled out amoung the hundreds of passengers in a hurry to make their flight, because he was...and I kid you not...a Boston Red Sox fan. Pay attention now. This is important. Unless you like the intense anxiety that accompanies an extensive and time consuming search of your carry on luggage, then choose you're sports apparel carefully. For you see, just as my friend cleared the body scanner, a TSA official, with a very thick Bronx accent, instructed him to "please step to da side." After a lengthy Q&A regarding the innocuous contents of the back pack, the TSA guy says, "Hey, how 'bout dem Red Sox?" Completely unaware that the baseball cap he was wearing was implicating him in some sort of plot to demean all of New York, (the city that had been attacked by the Muslim hordes) my friend innocently replied, "Yea, we had a great weekend." Wrong answer. Boston, although not in the pennant race, had won 3 out of a 4 games series in Boston. Upon uttering these words, the guy from da Bronx proceeds to swab every square inch of the back pack and its entire contents. Its during moments like these that you realize, time is not a constant; only an illusion, subject to the whims of our emotions. Seconds can become eons in the time-space continuum, when we travel within the margin of a short layover. My friend made his connecting flight. But only after this Klingon had sufficiently toyed with him long enough to compensate for his home team's inadequacy.

Sports fans beware. Do not come into Miami International wearing a Buffalo Bills Jersey. It is a bilingual black hole, that only the brave or the ignorant would approach in such attire.

Happy Trails.