terrorists will never win

i work in an air traffic control tower at a small, regional airport. having a job is very nice, but the work is not fulfilling. you all understand how air traffic control works, i'm sure. planes land, planes take off, it   goes on and on. planes can do all this without my help of course, but pilots are a pushy flock and need someone to organize them and set boundaries. can i land now? no, not yet. can i land now? someone else is landing right now, hold on. how about now? yes, now.

there are some planes that would like to disregard my advice. these planes are flown by men who signify their aloofness by owning planes too new, powerful, and big for any possible need they have. planes painted maroon with tan leather pilots seats. when i direct them i am greeted with long, huffy silences. as if i might should apologize for ensuring your safety at the expense of four minutes.

there are other planes though that direct themselves. i tell them what they already know. one plane in particular. it is a small blue and white plane with a single propeller. the pilot does not bring a lot to the table, conversationally, but he is easy to laugh. this plane stands out in particular though, because i am almost certain that the pilot, this jovial man, built it. who builds their own plane!

this is a thought i often have during the times when nobody flies. nobody flies after lunch but before work is over. nobody flies right after breakfast. and sometimes when i am eating a hamburger in the cafeteria i think about the small blue and white plane. it is one thing to build a house, a boat, a car. but a plane? where are we? since when can humans, with their own hands, endow themselves with the power of flight? it is a blessing, it is an abhorrence, I cannot believe god exists.