TheApple

I've been shot at twice,

The first time, I found out later, the father of a girl I was dating was trying to scare me off. It might have worked if I knew who was firing and me and why.

The second time was when I was a reporter covering a crime scene. It wasn't personal. The perpatrators were just firing and I happened to get in the way. My tape recorder got shot, but it kept working. They just don't build tape recorders like that anymore.

 Well, first let me tell about my near-life experience - I spent nineteen years in Saudi Arabia.

As for near death, I was shot at on many occasions TNTC (too numerous to count) in Vietnam. Fortunately the guys (and gals) pulling the triggers were lousy shots. I was also hit by mortar fragments - an inch to the left and they probably would have killed me.

But the one I recall the most happened in 1980. I was on my way from Riyadh to Jeddah with another teacher and his wife. Our plane was delayed and finally they decided to put us on another flight that had just come in from Pakistan and was on its way to Jeddah. We all rushed to the line, but, as we were waiting, it was announced that, due to limited seating, only families would be allowed to board. The other teacher and his wife were ahead of me and they got through the gate with no problem. I was alone, but I was wearing my wedding ring (my first marriage), so I thought, "When I get to the gate, I'll just point to my wedding ring and then gesture to the rear of the crowd, That should get me on." But when the moment came, I couldn't do it for some reason. So, when the guy asked. "Family?", I just shook my head and went back to the waiting area. My last sight of the couple with me was when they waved good-bye to me, just before getting on the plane. It was August 19, 1980.

http://www.planecrashinfo.com/w19800819.htm

A little later there was a lot of commotion outside, but, of course, no one would tell us what was going on. In the morning, I called my employer, and when the person at the other end picked up the phone I told him who I was. He said, "But you're dead."

I often think of that moment when I suddenly decided not to lie, and I often think of that lovely couple (he was American; she was Burmese)

who got on Flight 163.

John's stories are great testimony to the randomness of existence; how a change of as little as an inch in the trajectory of some shrapnell might have affected all our lives, not to mention the billions of others that very slight change could affect. Take nothing for granted, ever.