Saturday, 7 May 2011

Postcard from Washington DC

"The mind boggles at how much terrorism has been avoided since 2001, when companies started introducing a $4 tax on it."

Checking out of a youth hostel in Washington DC, I ask to put my backpack in their storage room until my coach leaves later that day. A fairly standard request. They explain that it's $4 per day for a locker, or for each time you enter the locker.

Mild extortion, but I agree to it.

In the storage room there's a sign warning people not to leave bags unattended, as "this is Washington DC, and people tend to be pretty paranoid about these things".

Now then. I know I'm nearly ten years late with this observation, but the terrorism America has seen over the last decade hasn't really been based on unattended packages, has it?

That's what we're constantly being told, "Please be aware of unattended packages". Any unattended package, be it outside the White House or outside Gateshead Plumbing School, may be the next step in Al-Quieda's deadly campaign of terror.

If I was a one of today's young aspiring terrorists, I'd be quite insulted by this misunderstanding of my craft.

And let's hope they don't come up with the idea of just putting their explosive inside one of lockers. I reckon 2011's sharp-minded terrorist might deem their 'destruction of western civilisation' cause worthy of a $4 outlay.

And what a time to insult them! "Hello young terrorist, I know you were thinking of blowing this youth hostel sky-high, but we're assuming you're too tight-fisted to pay for the privilege." If there's one time you don't want to be throwing around insults, surely just as they're making final preparations to blow up a building is that exact time?

INT. INTERROGATION ROOM. DAY

TERRORIST: Well I was having momentary doubts about my cause, about everything I've been taught, and about whether my beliefs are worth turning a six storey building to rubble for. But then I read that I had to pay $4 first? As some sort of barrier to entry for terrorism? Well from that moment I was convinced. And I didn't bother phoning in a warning either.

The mind boggles at how much terrorism has been avoided since 2001, when companies started introducing a $4 tax on it. Given the immeasurable success, it's perhaps time to extend the policy to other problem areas. Waging an unwinnable war on drugs? A £3 tax on drug trafficking should fix things. Depressed about iIllegal immigration? A £5 tax on war refugees will do the trick. Simple.


This blogpost was originally posted here.

Friday, 6 May 2011

The struggle for aloofness.

It's 6:13pm. The sun has been considering whether to set or not for a couple of hours, and it seems now to have settled on an answer.

We're in a beach restaurant in Karnataka, India, but it could be any backpacker orientated hangout worldwide. All the hallmarks are present and correct: patio furniture, hammocks and facial hair. There's banana pancakes on the menu, and the same five Bob Marley tracks repeating on the stereo. Everything is familiar here. Comforting. Today will not be remembered for its life altering developments.

There's six of us enjoying an early dinner. People have been competing to try and out-liberal each other. Sid took an early head start when he pointed out he's a vegan and that he doesn't own a TV. Samantha however, announces she has her own vegetable patch. Her opponents are sent reeling.

It's in the midst of this that KC asks me what the time is. 6:13 I reply. "Oh, that's precise of you", he retorts. Everybody giggles. KC has dreadlocks. An unkempt beard. KC has no interest in the exact time. KC has no interest in the exact anything.

I feel bruised by this encounter. I have tried to help out my friend KC. Why should I be mocked for merely trying to provide people with a helpful level of accuracy? You've asked me something, I'm now trying to assist you to the greatest possible extent. Yet, I get laughed at if I don't give you a worse answer.

For me to round the time to 6:15 actually requires extra effort on my part. I'd have to think about that. Do a quick calculation in my head. It is you that has asked the favour of me. If you're going to ask me the time, but want a pleasingly inaccurate answer, round things off yourself. You go through the effort. Seen as I'm doing you the favour.

Failing that, just don't ask at all. Seemingly you don't really care what the actual time is anyway. You see the sun is about to set. You've been hanging out in this place for five bloody weeks. I would've thought you'd have a supernatural gift for time estimation by now. Roping me into proceedings seems unnecessary. You do the rounding. You do the aloofness. It's best off I leave it to the professionals.


This blogpost was originally posted here.