A Game of Incomplete Information
I am an enemy of trips abroad. It’s as if I begin
with the usual assortment of beads and goods
only to find, upon crossing the lake, that these
are no longer common currency, and I must
lay stock in copper crosses. Neither am I reassured
that the jet engine is required to withstand
the ingestion of an eight-pound waterfowl
without failing, or that the law will be hard
on the careless dispatcher because mistakes
must not be made in the dispatching of planes.
The twin terminals are distinguished by high-contrast
wayfinding design, yet passengers still succeed
at missing their flights. And how does one explain
to Civil Aviation we had a rabbit strike at 1,800 feet?
Do you have a calculator there?
Alas, the clock radio does not tolerate
Highly mobile, I feel a weaker bond
with those I live among. I worry my neighbour
will dismantle my house and sell my belongings on
Kijiji. The key is to feed information in a singular
sequential manner: first come, first served, and no,
he will not deliver the door to Chippawa. My companions
are coyly silent about the bankruptcies, delays,
fears and dust they impose. They arrive ninety minutes
ahead of time, leaving bleach and other caustic
chemicals at home. We are not notified of cabin
disinsection but would be if we happened to insist.
These policies are beautiful in the incoherence of
airports and cities of men, this magazine mine to keep.
Possible actions exceed the number of controls.
Erin Knight is not the “where are you off to today?” seat companion
Published On: September 14, 2010
Permanent Location: http://www.forgetmagazine.com/100914a.htm