The War Against Terror

This morning I went to the baker in order to purchase a fresh baguette. Having done so, I exited the establishment. Normally, I have to open the door to accomplish this. Today, however, another customer, unprompted, opened it for me (he didn't tug his forelock, but you can't have everything). I said “Thank you,” or words to that effect. But – and here’s “the kicker”, as they say – as I went out, someone else came in, virtually simultaneously. He also said “Thank you” to the man who was holding open the door.

This is obviously an iniquitous situation. Clearly, the door had been opened for me and me alone, yet this other arsehole seemed to think that he had the perfect right to make use of the service, too, hence his entrance and accompanying words of thanks.

Why does this bother me so much?

Because, when I stayed at the Hotel Nacional in Cuba, the doorman there used to expect to receive one dollar each time he let me in or out. At the current rate of exchange, this is about 0.71 pence. Now, I’m not saying that the man that opened the door for me this morning is necessarily going to chase me up with an invoice, but, in these troubled economic times, one never knows. And if he does, he’ll probably expect 71 pence, too. Which effectively means that I’ll be paying for that other twat, as well. But even if he tries to be even handed, splits the fee, and only invoices me for 0.355 pence, I’ll still think it a little unfair. This is because I’m far fitter, more intelligent, and better looking than the second man, so my exit is actually worth a lot more than his entrance. Therefore, if you think it through logically, I’ll, in fact, be subsidising his lower IQ and overall decrepitude.

On consideration, an exact analogy is the situation in Gaza where, back in January, Hamas officials helped themselves to a good proportion of the aid provided in good faith by the United Nations. By the same token, then, isn’t it fair that I should treat that second man like a Hamas official? Accordingly, the next time I see him in the baker’s I’ll lob a phosphorous bomb at the cunt.

I will, of course, endeavour to ensure it’s a precision bombing, but I can’t absolutely rule out the chance of collateral damage to the baker’s shop and to his other customers. But better this, surely, than allowing the forces of terror to succeed in their goals. It's just to be hoped that George Galloway doesn't then add fuel to the flames by turning up with an aid convoy.