So V, who had been taking Krav Maga classes for a while now, said we should go to a gun show. The International Krav Maga Federation (IKMF) Philippines was doing a demo around noon on Saturday. I’d never been to either a gun show or a Krav Maga demo, so I agreed to show up.
I got there late, so I missed the actual demo, but got to see the Q&A. And when I say Q&A, I meant the audience asks how to defend yourself from this or that, and on stage, one guy will pretend to attack the other, who will in turn pretend to beat the first guy up. Then they’ll do it slowly, and explain each move to you in detail. This is how to defend yourself from a knife-wielding mugger in a jeepney:
And this is how to to defend yourself from a gun-wielding carjacker:
Over lunch, I listened to V and her classmate S rave about how awesome the Krav Maga classes were. I should sign up, they said.
“Are you sure they’re just classes?” I asked. “I mean, what if you’d unwittingly signed up to serve in the Israeli army?” I heart the Jewish people and everything, but the Israeli army was a different class of awesome (when you’re surrounded by people who are forever trying to attack you, you had better be seriously badass) so I’m not sure they would want me. I get sore arms after rearranging my shoe boxes.
“You’ll be a soldier of Zion, but there will be no bacon,” I added.
“The food in Israel is really good,” S said. “Honestly, you won’t miss the bacon.”
“What about crispy pata?”
S told us about how she once bought, on a whim, a large loaf of bread from a vendor on the beach. “It was amazing. Better than anything at BreadSpeak*. And it had this cheese in it that was also amazing. They have really good food in Israel. Did I mention cheese? And there’s baklava.”
V was not sure she wanted baklava.
“You should tell your future commanding officer you don’t want Baklava,” I said. “I’m sure the Israeli army can feed you something else. Or you can send your baklava to me.”
“Or you can just go there. There are nicely priced tourist packages, it includes hotels and visits to historical sights,” S said.
And apparently we can go there as tourists visa-free.
“Hang on. So you’re telling me I can buy a plane ticket and just waltz into Israel?” OMG, Jewish boys are super cute. Also, baklava. Which, I have to point out, I’ve never had, but from what I’ve read and what people have been telling me, is even better than heroin. Which, I also need to point out, I’ve never tried either.
“Well, you can buy a plane ticket and fly there, but they won’t let you waltz through. The security screening is extremely exhausting. They’ll go through every nook and cranny of your suitcases, and pick through every item of clothing you have. And then they’ll ask you a bazillion questions about why you’re there.”
I immediately started rehearsing my responses, deciding that I couldn’t possibly go wrong with (loosely) sticking to the Geneva convention guidelines for interrogation: Name, Twitter handle, and the line “I am here for the cheese.”
“Sign up for Krav Maga already,” V said. “They have special classes, like how to defend yourself while wearing heels.”
“Also, they once had gave family/group rates for the home invasion classes,” S said. Apparently, to be safe, the first thing the instructor told the class was it was a course on how to defend yourself from home invasion, not how to do a home invasion.
“Will these techniques work for a zombie home invasion?” I said. I tried to picture close-contact fighting with smelly rotting undead corpses. Ewwww.
“Uh, you can ask the instructor.”
(Coming soon to the AGGTTA blog: “How to Get Kicked Out of Krav Maga Class by Asking a Series of Stupid Zombie-Related Questions”)
*Obviously, not the shop’s real name. /snicker/