I’m not a gun person.
We didn’t grow up hunting and no-one in the family owns a firearm. I’ve shot a gun exactly once, and that was in the Scottsdale, Arizona desert. I hit 3/5 targets and the instructor said that I had a pretty good shot.
Guns have always scared me. I don’t feel the need to possess or carry one, and I don’t get off going to the range and firing at human-outlined paper targets. I’ve have no desire to hunt deer or rabbits or birds. I enjoy other stuff.
Like turkey sandwiches.
Back in 2007 I started bringing my lunch to work. I was more often than not heading to Subway. I bought the same sandwich every time – turkey on honey oat loaded up with the same toppings and a light vinegar splash.
After discovering that making a turkey sandwich was not beyond my capabilities I began to appropriate the ingredients on my own. Each morning I’d fashion two sandwiches and head to work.
What I learned quickly is that tomatoes don’t sit well on wheat bread over time. Their juice gets into the bread and it becomes soggy. You have to pack them separate. Also, I found that I didn’t like to eat sandwiches whole – it’s better tasting for some reason if I cut them in half. I know – I’m weird.
Problem – the tomato slices were bigger (I bought huge tomatoes) than the bread halves. I understand this is boring stuff here but I’m trying to set the context for why I brought a steak knife to work every day. First I’d unpack the sandwich, then put the tomato in, and then cut the whole thing in half.
I had a briefcase containing the sandwich items and knife. I had no other reason to bring in the case. We weren’t allowed to take client documents home and it wasn’t like I was transporting a filofax. I just dated myself with the filofax comment. No, the briefcase was used exclusively to move the sandwich from home to work.
Months later I boarded a plane to Washington D.C. for a wedding.
At my seat I reached for my briefcase to an open compartment along the back. I had thrown my wallet into that space earlier and wanted to move it. Something bit me. I recoiled my hand and found a few drops of blood on my index finger. Reaching carefully back into the pouch I discovered what had cut me.
A large, serrated steak-knife.
Yes, I had made it through the crack security team of O’Hare airport with the six-inch blade I used everyday at lunch. I felt proud like this was a huge accomplishment and that I had “stuck it” to the man (sorry for the pun – unintentional). I shook my head up and down smugly as I had just pulled off a theft of a Hope-diamond caliber.
When we arrived at the hotel the girlfriend suggested I leave the knife in the room and not to press my luck on the return trip. I agreed and took the knife out and set it atop the armoire.
Well, even though I have a clear memory of removing the knife, apparently I didn’t remove the knife. At the time I must have been sidetracked (probably by something shiny) and forgot to pull the blade out of the bag. Or maybe I did remove the knife and a maid found it, realized it wasn’t the property of the hotel, and put it back in my briefcase. My memory sucks, so this is unlikely.
You can see where this is headed. Yes, on the return trip I, once again, made it onto the airplane with a knife. It was discovered much the same way before – I reached my hand in and found the blade tip. This time I celebrated even more than before. I had twice outwitted security detail. In two consecutive airports, no less!
Had I been caught, I would have explained that I brought that steak knife to work every day to cut a sandwich and left it in there by mistake. It had dried crumbs stuck to the handle and was stained red from tomato juice. Well, maybe the stained-red thing would be an issue. A great moment, however, having the TSA pull out a knife out in front of the rest of the people waiting in line. Maybe an old lady would have fainted.
I don’t carry a knife anymore as I now pre-cut my lunch at home. Which makes more sense. Took me a few more years to figure that one out. Sadly.
