“This looks like a job for me, so everybody just follow me … cos it feels so empty without me!” No, Eminem, you can’t fucking leave without me, verdammte Scheiße!
Ryanair and the Kiev Airport is a dangerous combination. Double trouble. Non penso che ci siano abilità italiane che ti possano salvare da disorganizzazione e avidità combinate in un unico mostro.
Man kommt pünktlich an. Security check. Man weißt auch nicht wofür, da ein Typ am Monitor schläft und der andere Netflix guckt. Vor Monitor. Shit, ich habe kein extra Gepäck gekauft. L’angelo custode mi aiuta, nuovamente. Danach, ganz entspannt: ich habe Zeit, denke ich. Und ein bisschen Kopfschmerzen. Wie beim Kopfschmerzen, man weißt nie, wie lange man hat, bevor es schlechter wird.
Check in, check in? No es mas posible hacerlo sin pagar. Nadie sabe porque. Vamos a pagar por hacer el check in: pagar despues de haber pagado. Efectivo o tarjeta de credito? Solamente tarjeta, que obviamente no tengo, pero mas obviamente esa poronga de tecnologia ucraniana no funciona. Tickets Sale, a mirar a la chicas de la caja que miran la computadora que no funciona. Che al mercato mio padre comprò.
Time expands. You hear the sound of drops of sweat falling, slowly, as slow as when you try to open YouTube with Explorer. You also start to smell the sweat of all those people who will sleep next to you at the airport, waiting for a plane that will never come, with a credit card that will never be accepted, and will eventually need a psychologist, who can’t be paid by credit card.
Bueno, lo que pasa es que la chicas se aburrieron de mirar a la computadora che al mercato mio padre comprò quei 50 anni fa, y ahora podemos finalmente pagar cash. Cash, magic word, magic music. La signora in fila davanti a me esulta, con la sue borse piene di panettoni: stava aspettando da Natale. 2015. Avanti Cristo.
Kopfschermzen steigt, ich habe Durst, God is dead, Marx is dead, und ich auch fühle mich nicht so. Aber ernsthaft.
On the plane, I wanna close my eyes and sleep. Stewart comes and wakes me up. “You can’t sleep while departing!” Why? And who the Stewart is fuck? A kid is crying, and I’m not sure it’s not me.
Back home.