Thread by @EnswellJones

By request, here is the story of an unfortunate airport incident involving my CBC T-shirt. I come off badly in it, but some context is necessary: I had just landed, barely, at Pearson in Toronto. It was a PAN PAN emergency. My flight made the news. This was my plane.

We had lost hydraulic power and flown over Lake Ontario to dump fuel. It was 20 minutes of pure fear. I had literally written farewell notes to my kids. I was not in a good mental place, and then I entered Customs to find a crowd of thousands. I was molten-lava hot.

Anyway, there was this guy, maybe 50 years old, in line in front of me. He was there with his wife and two daughters, who I’d guess were 21 and 19. While we were waiting, he kept looking back at me, and at my awesome CBC T-shirt (pictured), with this puzzled look on his face.

I willed him not to say anything to me. I can’t explain how I knew—I guess he had those lightless eyes that morons have. In my adrenaline-soaked brain, I kept thinking, “Buddy, I am not the guy, not tonight. Turn around. You don’t want this.” I was beaming it at him.

“So,” he finally said. “You’re a fan of the Communist Broadcasting Corporation?” Now, for my non-Canadian friends, the CBC is our national public broadcaster. It’s sort of like the BBC in the UK, or PBS/NPR in the US, but those comparisons don’t quite capture it.

It’s a critical part of our national fabric. You can tune it in with a coat hanger. It was home to the great Degrassi Junior High and Danger Bay. For a certain kind of Canadian, the CBC is sacred, something worth fighting for. And friends, I am exactly that kind of Canadian.

“Go fuck yourself,” I said. You might be surprised I would say that to a stranger. Well, I’ve done a lot of therapy since. Also it’s a myth that Canadians are nice. We’re polite. And when our rules of social engagement are broken, Canadians go bananas. Try cutting a line here.

Moron said, “I guess I should have worn my CSI T-shirt. Because I Can’t Stand Idiots.” I got an inch from his big dumb face. “You should have worn a shirt with pockets actually,” I said. “So you’ll have somewhere to put your fucking teeth when I knock them out.”

At this juncture, his wife started pulling him away, and his older daughter burst into tears. “I’m never traveling with you again,” she said. I was like, How often does this happen? Like, does he spend his vacations going after everyone he sees who supports public broadcasting?

As his wife was dragging him away, he started screaming, “I will always stand up for freedom and democracy,” and pointing his finger in the air, as though the CBC’s commitment to Murdoch Mysteries were the height of tyranny. His wife said, “Oh will you just shut up.”

Robespierre Jr. kept hollering back at me, now separated from me by his wife and daughters. I kept hollering back at him. Then his younger daughter, fully composed, turned to me and said, “Please stop talking to my Dad, thank you.” I admired her very polite stones. No joke.

But my favourite part: In the giant line behind us, there was a group of college bros coming back from Barbados or somewhere. I heard one say, “If this was happening behind us, I’d be all for it, but it’s happening in front of us, and they’re going to keep us here as witnesses.”

In the end, nothing happened. Just two old men acting like children. We both arrived at our respective Customs officers: “Anything to declare?” mine said. “Yeah,” I said, and I pointed to Mr. CSI. “That guy is an asshole.” And his wife looked at my officer, AND SHE NODDED.

I took out my unspent rage on Air Canada, which meant writing a strongly worded email and then flexing in front of a mirror. In exchange for my sheer terror, I received a 15% discount on my next flight. You get the same discount IF YOUR SEAT-BACK TV DOESN’T WORK.

I’m still waiting to see a guy in an Air Canada T-shirt standing in a line somewhere. Believe you me, I will let him fucking have it.