I'm going down...in a blaze of glory...
In March 2002 just before my 25th birthday I was passing through Ecuador on my way to the Galapagos Islands. It was soon after 9/11 and every airport in the world seemed to be on security overdrive and Quito airport was no exception, lots of Ecuadorian soldiers and many, many security stops.

As I got to the front of yet another queue to show my passport AGAIN, the security guard stood up, took out his handgun, removed the magazine, put them both down on the counter in front of me and walked off.

I stood there staring at the gun amazed. Being British I had/have never used a gun or even seen one up close, but I HAVE seen a lot of movies. The urge to pick it up was huge, you know...slap in the clip, pull the top back, just like in the films. The feeling was akin to being on a cliff edge and getting the urge to jump, or being in a public library and desperately wanting to shout "cunt!". Fuck me I wanted to grab that gun.

Obviously I didn’t. I didn’t want to be shot or spend the rest of my life being rammed in the wrong-un in a South American jail. Eventually another security guard turned up & re-holstered the gun and I went on my merry way.

To this day I wonder if it was a test, anyone who picks up the gun is a terrorist sort of thing. I still have slow motion fantasies about running towards the soldiers shouting “Noooooooooo”…. bangbangbang...ratatatatatata....”whyyyyyyyyyy….”

Incidentally, I just phoned my brother to ask his opinion as to whether I should post this chapter of my life. He thinks I should have picked up the gun & run after the guard shouting, "Mister, mister, you forgot your gun..."

I’ll do that next time Chris.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Mon 6 Mar 2006, 22:32, Reply)