I know there’s been a lot of negative criticism of the folks who screen passengers at the airports, but personally, I’d like to know if I’m sitting next to an underwear bomber. Then again, I don’t fly — ever — because I don’t ride in anything more than four feet off the ground.
My wife gives me a hard time because my fear of flying really reduces the amount of feasible vacation locales. I really blame my fear of flying on Sept. 11, sadly, as I watched news replays of those planes fly into the World Trade Center too many times that day. The thought of being a passenger on one of those jetliners and being powerless really disturbed me.
I’ve told several people I’d rather jump out of a plane with a parachute than ride on one. Of course, I’d have to also pack my own parachute prior to the free-fall, just to make myself feel better about the chances of it opening.
The cases of people with bombs in their underwear just reinforces my fear of flying. There was also the guy who tried to blow up a plane using a shoe bomb. Once again, not a bright idea in my opinion.
I’ll just continue to roll through life in my sub-compact vehicle and never worry about such nonsense. I don’t pick up hitchhikers, and I’m pretty sure I don’t need to worry if those who ride with me have sticks of dynamite between their legs.
In the meantime, I’ll continue to keep my eyes open for anyone with suspicious looking hip bulges or fuses running out of their pockets. I guess you never can tell when the fruits of the loom can go bad, or in this case, BAM!