On fire, fire, fire

The flight is already delayed. I am tired. For two more hours we sit and wait. Finally all the people and their bags can get on the plane and many people and many more bags are moving towards the plane. Finally all people have found their places and even more important all bags are stored somewhere. Since many years I am convinced that the only true magicians who exist are working on airplanes, finding storage places for the never-ending amount of bags and bags and bags people are carrying with them. But the plane does not move despite all this positive signs and then we hear a young woman discuss in a shrieking voice with an air hostess. The woman, slim and blond, wearing full outdoor-gear and her tall and slim, blond partner, he also full equipped for a tour on the Mount Everest discuss intensely and very enraged with the stewardess. They want to bring their favorite, ultimate outdoor camping stove with them on board and no they don’t see a reason why this should be forbidden. Danger of explosions? How could you dare to think of such an instrument of excellence in such terms? How could an air-hostess dare to mention regulations, where every pupil could see that this camping stove is beyond all law, justified alone by its single purpose. Oh, how could you dare. the flight gets delayed further, the air-hostess fails to convince the couple to give up their plan and while the air-hostess calls for the captain, she waves the camping stove high-up in the air, a triumphant sign of resistance. She will start a revolution right now, she won’t give up an inch of her territory now. But the captain obviously is not a sans-culotte, but annoyed of an already delayed flight, quick and sharp he takes away the camping-stove, says a few harsh words to the couple and takes the stove with him to hand it over to the airport officials. The air-hostesses begin with their security introductions, the woman looks beaten and her belief in justice but more in the right to carry a camping stove with her all times is destroyed forever. For the next two hours she will sit on her seat, two rows in front of me, 24 A sobbing and crying bitterly, her partner tries his best, but her doubts in him are growing. Wasn’t it her, who raised her voice against the injustice? Wasn’t she steady, angry and self-conscious? Wasn’t she defending not only the beloved camping-stove but human rights at all? And where has been? where will he be, when she frees the chicken or raids some oil tanker? And will she be left alone with the dirty cups, somewhere in the future, too? Many questions will be raised on this trip I think, but for me it’s another question why people fly to Ireland in October to go hiking. But I was never a proud owner of anything with the word „outdoor“ in it. When we arrive in Dublin, it’s already 1 AM, tired I am, and I know that I need more than one hour till I arrive at the village where I live. When I leave the terminal, I see the blond woman talking to some guy on a desk, I could swear I heard the word „camping stove“ but I am too tired to listen for more.

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