As someone I was reading today noted (sorry I didn’t comment at the time), a “powder-like substance” is, well, powder. Let’s save those syllables for the war effort, folks.
Anyway, everyone has gone — well, nuts over this. And, yes, it’s drawn out the lunatics who want to create chaos, and the oafs who think it would be funny to do a hoax.
But, still, everyone is going nuts over the whole “white, powder-like substance” thing.
So I’m at the airport, done with scarfing down some McDonalds grub, and getting up to head for the gate, when I glance down at the table.
Salt. I’ve left some salt sprinkled across the table. Because my blood pressure isn’t high enough, I have to augment it with massive doses of salt, using French Fries as the vector.
So there’s salt sprinkled there.
And as I take another few steps, I can just imagine someone coming to that table, seeing that salt, and screaming for security, and haz-mat teams scrambling, and my flight being cancelled, and the concourse being evacuated, and if, heaven forbid, someone remembered me sitting there, my spending the next few weeks telling my life’s story to the FBI rather than to my blog audience.
And it was just plausible enough, given the present hysteria, that I almost go back and clean off the table.
But I don’t. Because, damn, life is just too short, even now.