When attempting to get off a plane Thursday night and getting to whereever Martin was waiting after not having seen him for 11 days (ok, 11 days might not sound too bad, but this is a LONG time for us) I was wishing I had brought a machete. Why do people always have to wait for their friends at the narrowest point? Once I did get to him (and after a bit of smooching and such) Martin pointed out that as I’d been flying I wouldn’t have been allowed to bring a machete anyway, a fact which had completely slipped my mind in the exasperation (I suppose slicing people’s legs off with a machete isn’t stricktly “allowed”, either, come to think of it). This notice would have been a useful alternative.
(Via)