Golden Ticket

We had a rule on the trip. It was called, "The Golden Ticket Rule."

Quite simply, if Bartowsky or I ever had visions of murdering our traveling companion (him killing me -most likely, or me killing him -less likely) we were to voice this inclination. Talking about it would produce an immediate action, best summarized as: Find nearest airport and put Bartowsky or Dad on a plane home.

"Congratulations, son! You just won a beautiful golden ticket on Delta Airlines!"

​The intent behind this rule was not necessarily a concern about murder or being murder. Although we do watch The First 48, so... Rather, the concern was close proximity for 12 days or more. In a car. Designed by the Japanese. I'm 6'-3". Bartowsky is 6'-2." And thus, the Golden Ticket.

​Which was never redeemed.
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