"You live in Bozeman?!?" booms the graying, pony-tailed stranger. "I f***king love Bozeman!" He plops his girth into seat 16B, shoving my elbow off the armrest. I should know not to bite on the opening question. All I want is to do is get to San Diego with Sue. But I've become a captive audience for a disquisition on this man's life, loves, and longings. Sue is across the aisle, out of range, enjoying her latest book. Somewhere in his gum-snapping torrent, I catch, "The best life is the 'government exempt' life." That was 10 minutes and at least 10 subjects ago. My neck reddens. I chafe his presumptuousness, his knuckle-dragging proselytism delivered with a wink--as if of course we think alike. I rue having let it pass. But when he comes up for air, I seize the moment. "You really believe that?" I ask.
"What?"
"Your bullshit about the 'government-exempt life'."
He's temporarily taken aback.
"Look," I say, "You seem like a smart guy (giving undue credit). But you pushed your bias on me; now I'm pushing back." "Go for it," he says, recovering his mien. "But government is useless. "Politicians party in the caboose while the train runs out of control." "Um, what about GPS technology? Or stealth technology that pioneered the use of composite manufacturing materials? Or the Homestead Act, or the 40-hour workweek, the end of child labor, or the GI Bill that gave the U.S. the best-educated workforce in the world and helped build the middle class, or the Interstate Highway System that revolutionized the transportation of goods?" He seizes on Eisenhower's freeways. "The government should be doing more of that!" I return the grin. "Just what Obama did. And people like you called it socialism." "Hey, I've been a builder for 30 years," he replies. "In the recession of the 80s, I moved to Hawaii and built military facilities. The waste I saw! Unbelievable!" "Report it?" "What?" The abandonment of the Government Exempt Life seems to have escaped him. "I'm asking if you reported all that waste you said you saw." He shifts in his seat and his eyes narrow. "Look, I build in Salt Lake City now. Building inspectors and their niggling harassment are killing us. It's ridiculous!" "So because of some bad building inspectors, we should have no building codes? You're confusing government with the product of government. If the product's delivery is bad, hold politicians responsible." He reluctantly concedes the point. Then his eyes dart up and down the center aisle. "But the people on this plane--how many of them know anything about government?" "What do you think?" "They're completely ignorant!" My grin turns demonic. "If that's true when your friends on Fox and others spout off about the virtues of a 'government exempt' life, they'll remain ignorant. If selling snake oil were a crime you'd be dining behind bars." We taxi to the gate. I stand to retrieve my overhead bags. Ponytail remains seated, grinning up at me. "Hey!" he calls out, "I'm coming to Bozeman; I'll stay with you."
Not in this life, asshole.