Oliver Barton having a run of bad luck, and his return home can only make things worse.
Part 1: Oliver Barton is at the Airport
First off, i don't like old people so i am not that sympathetic. I am sorry that it's 2010 and you're like a thousand years old, but you're holding up the line and I've got a fucking plane to catch. As the elderly woman made eye contact with me I smiled politely and shook my head as if to reassure her the process of checking in a bag was much more complicated than it actually was. I wish I could have said out loud what was going through my head at that moment, I wish I could verbalize even a fraction of the thoughts which stirred through my mind on a daily basis. In the end, however, my conscience always got the better of me, the value of social cohesion with other humans always outweighed the satisfaction of "telling it how it is."
I find myself constantly keeping my thoughts bottled deep inside. It doesn't matter if it is the bag man at the supermarket with the nerve to stack soup cans on top of my bagels (the lazy cunt can't even bag groceries, what a waste of a human life), or my co-worker boasting of his new Jeep Wrangler (you know only douche bags drive those cars...). I keep those thoughts to myself, but for the occasional outburst at my cat Lemon; she doesn't understand English anyway.
The check-in woman asked the old lady to move to the side as she filled out a form, I'm guessing it was a pointless form so she could keep the old woman occupied while she helped other customers. I stepped up with my online print out and other credentials in hand, within a minute I was checked in and on my way. The old lady looked at me perplexed as to how I passed through with so much ease while she was still struggling to sort things out. I simply smiled and offered one possible explanation, "No bags?" I shrugged. She smiled back and nodded as though it all made sense to her, I neglected to add the reason probably had more to do with the fact that people who were born before the advent of commercial airliners probably shouldn't be flying anywhere in the first place, but again my conscience got the better of me, I was late to catch my plane anyway.
I got through the security checkpoint fairly quickly, although not before having to take off most of my clothes to get through the metal detector. I often wonder what would happen if I took off all my clothes and tried to walk through the metal detector completely naked. I bet I could defend it by asserting, "if everyone went through naked there would be no threat of a terrorist attack", perhaps I could even get a "USA!" chant going. Airport security always conjures thoughts of bomb and terrorism jokes for me. I wanted to tell the Homeland Security agent about how the likelihood of me committing a terrorist act is often effected by stress and convenience, and since I'm late to catch a plane I'd say my terrorist alert level is, "pretty fucking high right now." Fortunately for everyone, I got through security without saying a single word to anyone.