Dear Travel Diary,
As I was in the Amsterdam airport, standing in the snail-paced Customs line, my mind did what it does best, wandered. My vivid imagination colored up an overweight, bearded man going ape shit because the Non-EU Passport line wasn’t moving. Disgruntled, impatient, and irate, he took out a blade and started thrashing at everyone near him, screaming profanities while his face went from pale to red hot. Bystanders tried to fend for themselves and ran past the horrified Custom Agents, everyone panicked, trampled over each other, and screamed. The news reports later would focus on how incompetent the Transporation Security Administration is and ask questions like, “How did the man make it past security with a blade? Who should we blame negligence on?”
I don’t know why this happens. Anytime I’m on a bus and it’s quiet, I often imagine the worst case scenario, and how I would use my resources around me for an escape route. On the San Francisco Muni, I imagined that I would take the loops hanging from the bus’s ceiling, somehow rip it off, karate-kick and strangle the stumbling, drunk offender.