According to Trotsky...
It’s a bit long, but you can’t throw a word out of the song.
I had to work in Alaska 15 years ago. We had to walk a lot on the glaciers and in their surroundings. It was then that I finally got into the idea of buying an ice-cutting machine. I dreamed of him for a long time, since I was a child. On the one hand, it is extremely useful when moving on slippery surfaces of all types, on the other – a symbol of courage and brotherhood of real men. In Russia, for insurance in the mountains, there was enough alpine stake - a wooden rod with a metal end, but on Alaskan glaciers the first component of the dream of a icebreaker sharply prevailed (and I am a fan of safety technology). As a result, the icebreaker was acquired, which was also perceived by me as a kind of transition to a higher level relative to the alpine high. Since I was 195 centimeters tall, the glacier was picked up with a handle of the appropriate length, and when I walked through the streets of the Alaskan villages, holding it like a trunk and slightly bending (although the pen was shorter than the trunk), it looked almost like the elderly Edmund Hillary.
The work is over, we have to go back home. tk. The icebreaker has a specific shape, the possibility of carrying it in the form of a trunk at the airport caused me to doubt. Colleagues said that in Alaska they are usually not paid attention to, there are many. I put it in my 150-litre backpack and covered it with things, books, and so on. At the airport of Fairbanks really no problems arose – I handed in the luggage and goodbye. But the flight was with a transfer in New York... And here I almost got there. The luggage is weighed, but before it sails on the carrier it passes the special control and enlightenment once again. And here is a big (big, with me in height, but three times wider) black woman, in the shape of a secure, crashes from her seat, brakes the tape of the carrier and smells my backpack from it. And on the screen of the enlightenment on the pale background of my things is clearly visible in all its sharp beauty a metal icebreaker. And the dark blue outside and almost black in fact aunt terribly asks me, what is it? I am English and now I don’t know enough, but then I was quite green. I understood the meaning, but the details often escaped from me. I was a little cursed. I say it’s an icebreaker, a ice breaker. But for me it was an ice shredder, and for my aunt it sounded like an ice shredder (I then understood it). New York is in the south of the United States, the southern Negroes generally know very little about ice, but they watch TV. Knowing from him that the U.S. has a big problem with icebreakers (they are almost none), but apparently having a bad idea of what it is, she sharply stood up in defense of capitalist property and power of her country and in a tough form stated that the export of icebreakers from the U.S. is strictly prohibited! I, seeing before me a icebreaker, not a icebreaker, allowed myself to doubt that without the icebreaker the United States would be angry. “No!” said the aunt and demanded that I get the ice breaker. Nothing to do, I dissolve 150 liters of barrels and get the ice shredder. He’s a bit crazy by me, but quite brilliant and awful. Aunt looks at him and it is seen that she begins to doubt that there is a sea ship in front of her. “What do you usually do with him?” she asks me. I take him in my arms, squeeze and try to show him as if I’m climbing up the ice slope. Aunt jumps away from me, turns on the sirene mode in my head, and I am caught by two unknown cops from where they materialized. I am taken away from the weapon of killing blacks, and the cops with my aunt begin to discuss what to do with me in an English dialect that I do not understand. Aunt calls at the same time in witnesses and prosecutors a guy from the neighboring stand, who previously watched the show with great interest. He approaches, gets into the problem and without words begins to rust. This trio looks at him with some outrage, saying, we almost caught the criminal here, and you are having fun. The guy takes my icebreaker, gently examines it, smoots it, then approaches the column behind the stand and shows how he, using the icebreaker, as if climbing it up. By the way, he explains that this is not an icebreaker, but an icebreaker (here I finally realized it was an ice pick). My aunt got into the topic, cops too, I was released, but what to do next - my aunt doesn't know. The guy gives me a ice crawler, saying that he is passionate about climbing, the ice crawler is good and he even envy me a little. I thank him, but the situation is still pathetic. The flight is approaching. My aunt is calling. Next to our stand, I am alone, the rest of the special controls pass by the sides and look at us, pointing with their fingers. After 5 minutes, an impressive man appears in a dark blue suit and tie, carefully familiarizes himself with the composition and listens to the explanations of his aunt. I understand that this is an FBI agent and I will be sent on the nearest flight to Guantanamo. The man turns to me and suddenly, in pure Russian, tiredly asks me, "Well, what fucking thing do you do to this iron man in Russia? We don’t do that there, right? “You and I have all these problems?” The man was a representative of Aeroflot. I explained that, yes, how, that, say, a fool, but the ice shredder is dear to me and I cannot live without it. Let them take my luggage, and I will not kill anyone in the plane unless I am allowed into the luggage compartment. “Here,... Trotsky on my head!” said the spokesman, clarified how I got to New York, and turned to the Negro woman, who looked at us suspiciously (now these Russians will agree to something and in general crants!). But the man turned out to be a professional and proposed a plan. Together, they called the security service at Fairbanks Airport and made sure that I was missed there with an ice shredder and that I hadn’t struck anyone on the flight to New York. I and I were flying in different parts of the plane. Aunt calmed down, a spokesman for Aeroflot, breathed lightly, said, “You guys, don’t do that anymore, you are not there here! Idiot!” and went away. Aunt makes a Solomon's decision - the icebreaker will continue to fly separately as a special means. She categorically refuses me when I am going to put things in my backpack. I no longer have the right to touch them until the transport is over. She folds the backpack herself, and I quietly hang out, because she does it quickly and professionally, resulting in it getting smaller in size than I had the day before. Seeing my look, she says not without self-satisfaction that before security for several years worked on baggage packaging and the experience will not be drunk. The icebreaker is wrapped with some clothes and wraps, documents for separate transportation are drawn up on it and the situation seems to have been resolved, the landing on my flight is already going. But! I can't touch my luggage, and the baggage shipping by the carrier has already ended. To the luggage box hundred meters in the straight corridor, the carriage here is no longer. The Negro is bumping something into the rack and from the luggage box a grown-up, but very small vanity Negro is resorting to us. Aunt hangs my backpack on him (and there 40 kilograms), gives him a ice cutter in his hands and demands to take it to the baggage delivery, but this (shows me) nothing to touch! To comply with this requirement, she sends davehny kopov. And here, along the long corridor, on half-swinged legs, swinging from side to side and relying on the ice shovel, like the elderly Edmund Hillary, almost invisible under the backpack, the carrier is wrapped, I follow him with a light handbag bag, and on the sides there are two healthy shovels with shovels and rub the people to the sides. From under the backpack there is a cry of the Negro, accusing everyone of the exploitation of the little ones, which is gradually increasing. The people around are shaking, and somebody is shaking, somebody is sympathizing. I try to keep the neutral expression on the cheek, because the devil knows it... The Negriton pulls my luggage before it is taken on the loading already almost slippery, drops it down on the shelf, and with the stone, clutching me and cops, rushes somewhere to lie down. Cops give the documents to the special cargo and the ice shredder itself is also in the luggage and wrapped. I go through the last check and I see a black aunt and a mountain climbing guy waving my hands from a distance. I sit on the plane. Three-range giant Boeing, I’m lucky, I’m at the window.
When everyone was dispersed, two stewardesses approached me (already our Russians), verified that I was me, and said: "You know, the special cargo was transferred to your place on board, but it is not carried in the luggage compartment, and the special department is occupied with us. Don’t you mind if he flies with you?” And they put on my luggage shelf my ice shredder over me. They smile and leave. The plane takes off. And I could not calm down until Moscow itself and all thought, from which row to start washing everyone with the icebreaker, like Trotsky... And I still use the icebreaker.