Jay’s Realm

So it was ten or so years ago when I was still in high school. Every few years one of the teachers puts together a trip to Europe and I went. My mom was a chaperone, much to my deep displeasure. How is one supposed to experience the finest Amsterdam has to offer with a parental unit in tow? For a teenage boy this was horrid. But Europe called, and so I went.

We visited Holland, France, Belgium, Germany, and England. And on our stop in Belgium we got time off to go shopping. Most people got sweaters. I picked up my girlfriend at the time some Godiva chocolates right from their original store front, or so they told me. I also went exploring.

And off on a side street away from everything I found a little tourist trap medieval armory. They had swords. They had crossbows. They even had several types of full armor. I looked around and out of the corner of my eye I saw it. Shining. Glowing almost. It called to me. A huge battle axe.

Then I saw the price tag and my heart sunk. It worked out to about two hundred and fifty bucks Canadian. For me, who was working as a dishwasher in the prestigious Milk River Inn, that was a metric shitload of cash. It was almost everything I set aside to buy things in Europe. I hummed and hawed but finally it dawned on me.

The Hard Rock Cafe shirts and shot glasses would break, rip, and go out of style. A battle axe. That’s unique. That has meaning. That is just solid. So I got it and a letter opener shaped like a dagger.

My mother was livid. I showed up at the bus with a large unmarked box in hand and she wanted to know what I got. When I pulled it out jaws dropped and people whispered. One of the boys who got a switchblade in Amsterdam pulled it out and looked at it, as if it would make the truth any different. Mine was bigger. Inflicting that state of penile inferiority is something every angsty teenage boy yearns for. Oh it was nice.

But back to my mother. She was livid. How could I waste that money? How could I expect to get it through customs? How would my father react? (With hidden amusement I was sure) Did I know how bad it made her look that her son was buying weapons when she was supposed to be responsible? Whatever mom. Teach you for horning in on my trip.

The box was very flimsy so I shoved it full of my dirty laundry and wrapped it up to be shipped as my second luggage piece. No issues with it all throughout Europe. Until we got the the airport.

I handed my box to a security guard and said, “There’s a battle axe in there.” He just looked at me sideways for a moment then turned to his coworker running the x-ray machine. A slight grin crossed his lips and he said nothing as he set my package onto the belt to be fed into The Machine. He stood with his back to his coworker and winked slightly.

The look on the operators face was priceless. You could see the scanner monitors clearly show a large metallic axe. He coughed. Nothing happened. He whispered. Nothing happened. He tugged at his coworkers shirt and was thrice ignored. Panic crept into his face. Finally he got a response and a good laugh.

I thought I was clear but I was wrong. The letter opener I got apparently constituted a security risk. I got a security escort through Heathrow airport. I got to ride on a little golf cart thing and wave to my Mom as she ran to the plane. We were one of the farthest gates away. Oh the look on her face was so put out. Again. It was glorious.

Back in Canada they didn’t even blink. And now I have a battle axe.