Mark Wahlberg and his hypothetical heroism made me think of something that happened to me a few years a go on a flight home from Italy. Depending on how you look at it I either nearly stopped a terrorist attack or I came within seconds of killing an innocent man. Either way I did nothing, absolutely nothing at all. But I was ready to, and that's the point.
I had been on summer holiday to a village in central Italy where my family are from, I was flying back to Prestwick from Rome, a notoriously shitty flight. Full of screaming kids and old Italians who insist upon clapping the landing, which really bothers me for some reason.
I had take my seat between my cousin Anthony, who got the window, and some random guy who took the aisle. The random guy next to me had a heavy tan, dark hair, and a moustache. Easily Italian. I didn't notice him for most of the flight, as I tend to put my hoody on backwards and wear the hood over my face so I don't have to look at anyone or waste my time acknowledging the existence of any Ryanair cabin crew.
The flight was as all return flights are, long, uncomfortable and sad. So much so that it makes all kids cry as loud as they can for as long as they can. Or at least that is the way it seems. When I finally heard the captain say "cabin crew take your seats for landing" I knew I was almost home. Just stay under the hood for another 10/15 minutes and I would be off this plane, away from these blue and yellow cunts, away from the screaming kids and away from this guy next to me who by this point was sweating fairly heavily.
After another 30 minutes, and we are still in the air, I took my hood down to see that a lot of people were looking out the windows. My cousin Anthony looked at me and said "there are fighter jets following us." I didn't believe him. What a crazy thing to say. Then I looked and the two things outside our right side looked exactly like two fighter jets. Curious. I strained to look out the left side and saw at least one more. Mix this with the fact we had been circling for a while, I kind of started to worry.
I should point out here that I have no prejudice based on what the news tells me, because that would go against my one rule, that would make me a dick. If you think someone who isn't the same colour as you is a potential threat you are not only a dick, but a cunt to boot. However. Saying that, this fellow next to me, who looked like an Italian at the beginning of the flight was starting to look all Taliban-y to me. He began to sweat heavier, and became very fidgety. After about 3 minutes of me using my excellent peripheral vision to keep an eye on him, and noticing that he was making eye contact with a guy of a similar look 3 rows ahead of us, he stood up, opened the overhead bin, grabbed something and stuffed it straight into his jacket pocket. I shat it.
I started to have a mild internal panic attack, I looked around the plane. I seemed to be the only one with a Mark One Eyeball on this guy. This guy, with his pal, were planning to take down the plane... It doesn't matter how insane that sounds, at the time, given the jets, the circling and this guys behaviour (or my interpretation of it) it was real enough. I rummaged around my pockets for keys or anything I could use as a weapon. In my outside left jacket pocket I had a silver writing pen. That's it. If this bastard makes his move I'll stick this pen in his throat. Joe Pesci style. I clicked the pen as if that nib would make all the difference in penetrating his skin.
I sat there staring at the headrest in front of me, keeping my peripherals on the mark. In my head I was falling to pieces, I obviously didn't want the guy to be a terrorist, I certainly didn't want to think I was on a plane that someone decided wasn't going to make it's destination... But I did kind of want to be able to stab someone in the throat with a pen, and I am not afraid to admit that I gave thought to the insane amount of Hero Pussy I'd get. To put this in context, lot's of shit had happened by this point, including the attempt on Glasgow Airport, where the terrorists got a swift boot to the baws. The guy with the exploding pants had his head kicked in by the same people he planned to kill in the name of a fucking religion.. The tide had turned, people were scared enough to hit out. And if this cunt next to me so much as coughs, I thought, I will stab the shit out of his throat and eyes.
I was like a tightly coiled spring. But then we landed. And he hadn't made his move. Maybe he had no move and I had just lost my damn mind, or maybe he got cold feet. Or maybe he thought the guy next to him with the beard, and his hand firmly in his pocket, staring at the back of the seat in front of him like he is thinking about killing someone... maybe he though that I was what he appeared to be to me... If that makes sense.
We all shuffled off the plane, dealt with the luggage and went home. I couldn't shift it though. As much as I had imagined most of it, I had kind of convinced myself to kill that guy. It made me realise something. The guy was Italian, without doubt, my moment of madness was just that. I found out the next day that the jets were precautionary because of a break in at Prestwick Airport in which a bunch of hippies had stormed the runway in some idiotic protest against George W Bush who was due at the Airport the next week for the G8. But as it stood at the time, in the plane, I don't think it was too far of a leap, after all we are being told day in day out that we should fear this kind of thing. It is truly despicable, but it is the way the news works now. I don't usually watch the news. But in that village in Italy BBC News 24 is one of only 2 English language channels we have. So I watched it. For two weeks solid.
Let's just say, for arguments sake that I killed the guy. He stood up again and I jammed the pen in his throat and repeated the action until I was, in effect, punching his spinal column. The plane would be painted with his blood, people would be screaming, babies would STILL be screaming. They all saw it, they all saw me stab this guy dozens of times. With all the witnesses and my own confession, I still think I would get away with it. And why not. I didn't do it, even if I was covered in his blood. I have a long history of being calm(ish) and collected(ish), I would explain that I spent two weeks watching The BBC's Version of the news, I would tell them about the fighter jets and this guys behaviour. I would tell the world that I was led to believe that my options were stab the guy or end up being terrorised(?) Is that the right term? You know what I mean. There is far too many Rolling News channels on, and none of them are telling you anything except new things to be scared of. It isn't news. It is the worst TV show on any network in any country. It is a dark, farcical comedy about us chasing an invisible threat around the oil rich countries of the world.
Everyone wants to be a hero. Or at least believe that they have it in them. I don't know if I would have gone through with it, panic will do funny things to you. I'd like to think that had the situation called for it I would have executed this guy and his pal... But at the same time, had he pulled out a bomb, or knife or anything I would probably have shat my pants. That's the problem with hypothetical scenarios, Marky Mark, you just never know how you'll react. A series of events led me to disregard almost everything I have learned, don't make assumptions about people being a big one. Don't watch the BBC being the other. That's a pretty big one.
I wish there was a bigger ending to this story. It simply proves that while you all think about these horrific things on planes, the chances of anything happening are truly remote. But if they do, you should be prepared. Watch Marky Mark's movies, take notes. Decorate the first class with terrorist blood. Fucking chop 'em up. The world will thank you for it, and there's not a court in the land that would convict you. The Land Of Hero Pussy and Mad Props Awaits Ye. It's like the religious concept of paradise... Except, you know, attainable.
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