I caught this story over at Joe Huffman’s blog about packing two Spyderco Delicas on a cruise ship.

Apparently the ship’s security was a British citizen who, so indoctrinated against the most primitive of tools, though that a 2-7/8 inch knife with a locking blade was the ne plus ultra of hand to hand murder weapons.

To make matters worse it was not just one knife but TWO.

I’m pretty sure I’d of been in a similar situation, I have been in the past.

I’m just not as good as biting my tongue as our intrepid voyager here.

Hinchliffe: Why do you carry two knives?

Joe: [What difference does that make? Norwegian Cruise rules don’t put a limit on the number of knives only on the length of the blade. According to the rules I can have 10, 100, or 1000 knives. But you don’t care about the written rules, do you?

(He gets his knives back)

Alternatively

J.Kb.: Why do you have two balls?  Then again, judging by your fear of lock back knives, you probably don’t.  

(I get my knives confiscated and get thrown off the cruise)

Interestingly enough, I was visiting New York City to see a buddy of mine.  He took me to see the Empire State Building.  I had a knife on me, probably a Spyderco Delica too.

To get to the observation deck, you have to pass through metal detectors.  They have a coat room where you can check items not allowed to the observation deck, so I checked my pocket knife.

I was challenged by the security guard who wanted to know why I was “such a tough guy” (I remember those words exactly) that I needed to carry a knife, then proceed to get a dressing down by some security guard behind a counter who make Michael Moore look fit.

This was many years ago, it was the summer after my Sophomore year of college and my buddy was working as an intern in NYC.  It was a little more than a year after 9/11 and just at the beginning of the invasion of Iraq, and much of the US was in full blown patriotism mode.

I was ROTC at the time and doing some training with the Indiana National Guard, and was on leave.  I had my military ID on me.

The manager came over to see what was going on and asked for my ID.  I could of handed over my drivers licence but pulled out my military ID instead.

That Fat Ass McBully realized in an instant he had fucked up.  Picking on a soldier was not acceptable in the recent post 9/11 zeitgeist.

It was apologies all around and being ushered to the front of the line.

Today, I’d probably be in prison.