Fools and good people

Being in Boston in the winter is like being on Queen's Beach in the summer, and that means a lot of coming and going and lots of fun in between.

When a man decides to travel in the middle of winter, he must be prepared for unforeseen events. Due to the snow storm in Istanbul, we had to delay our return by three days, which we were duly informed about by Turkish Airlines. But then everything changes, the crowds at the airports triple. Three days later we waited more than two hours to check in. There, a new unpleasant surprise awaited us. The flight from Istanbul to Podgorica was canceled again. No one informed us about this. It was the first unprofessionalism of the Turkish airline. They can give us a refund or we can travel on another day. We decided to go to Istanbul and from there to Belgrade and try to catch the last flight to Podgorica. Meanwhile, the plane to Istanbul was about to take off. Seeing our panic and hurry, the American customs officers and policemen were kind, except for one (re)charged policewoman who, through the thing, "explained" to us that we had to push our backpacks in the scanner line ourselves, because she, for God's sake, didn't travels with us. When on the plane, after two hours of flight, another full-figured lady, with a mask under her nose, placed her big butt, without asking permission and moving our things, between the two of us and soon snored, I thought that this population was persecuting us.

Kumstvo was to arrive on the flight to Podgorica that departed from "Nikola Tesla" at 20,10:19,20 p.m., and the plane from Istanbul, according to the schedule, arrived at XNUMX:XNUMX p.m. Thanks to Lara's alerting, everyone knew we were coming, so we quickly and easily, with smiles and good luck for a good flight, passed the first police checkpoint and the COVID check. I said to my wife: "Do you see that the brothers are Serbs!" That's how far we have come before passport control. We explained to the policeman that we were together. At that, grumpily, he mumbled for Tanja to return to the yellow line.

"But we've traveled halfway around the world always together, as a couple."

“Get back on the yellow line!” – he raised his voice a little. When he took my passport, he told me to take off my mask. I took it off and waited for her to look at me. It didn't occur to him, time was passing. "There, I took it off," I said. He didn't answer anything. "Aren't you going to look at me?" He just handed me back my passport, without looking up and motioned for me to pass.

Once again, I was convinced that there are good people everywhere. And that we, Serbs and Montenegrins, are neither better nor worse than others.

* * *

The only negative impact on the stay in Boston was the news from Montenegro about the overall bad climate. Of course, two topics were crushing my brain: the increase in the number of people infected with corona and the political situation, which I could not understand at all. And even after returning, I wonder if the scene is a lyrical betrayal of epic proportions or an epic betrayal of lyrical proportions?

* * *

And one particularly bad news came from Bar, about a young mother of three, Zumreta Nerda, who was beaten to death by her husband. The fate of her mother repeated itself to the unfortunate woman. Nerde are a responsible Roma family that has been trying for years to educate their younger members, so that they do not differ from their peers in any way, not even in terms of education. I once wrote about Zumreta's younger sister Giulietta as a bright, lovely girl with dark, longing eyes.

Many reacted to that tragic event. Of the politicians, as far as I can see, only the president of the SO Bar spoke out. The others, it seems, don't have time, from "lyric" and "epic".

* * *

I propose that the mandate of Montenegrin MPs be limited to one four-year period or possibly two. After that, they should return to their workplaces or try to establish them if they didn't have one. After the end of the mandate, they could receive the MP's salary for a maximum of six months.

Who is "for"? More than half a million citizens of Montenegro.

Who is "against"? Several hundred politicians.

Are there any "abstainers"? There is none.

* * *

In the sea of ​​unverified and charlatan information about the corona, I look carefully when "our top list" is announced, Dr. Marija Backović, from the Pasteur Institute in Paris. It works measuredly, reliably and expertly...

* * *

Fairly reliable information on the growth of newly infected people is, it seems, the measurement of the virus concentration in sewage water. In early January when those numbers started to drop in Boston, we knew that the omicron peak had passed and that in a few weeks the numbers of people tested and infected would start to drop. And so it was.

Wastewater measurement is, in America, the leading indicator for COVID numbers.

During the pandemic, experts analyze waste water as a more accurate indicator of the presence of the virus, because there, as in a mirror, all are reflected, both infected and asymptomatic cases and those who have not been tested.

* * *

A successful citizen of Podgorica in Boston, Dr. Milutin Mićo Pajović, who was easily rejected by little Montenegro, even though he was the first to graduate from the electrical engineering faculty in Podgorica with an average grade of ten, and was even more easily embraced by the great America, says that in all Montenegrin political parties, together, no there are enough fundamentally honest and professional people for a high-quality state administration.

But instead of preserving those few who are, we try in every possible way to challenge either their honesty or expertise...

* * *

When we were coming to Boston the other day, I thought a month and a half was too long. When we started preparing to return, I said loudly, "When before?!"

Everything passes…

* * *

I died since I blocked various conspiracy theorists on Facebook who regularly received a one, rarely a two, from written assignments in Serbo-Croatian, and remained illiterate forever; as well as the so-called political analysts and "independent (and disaffected) intellectuals", whose guiding idea we met during their first text and now we are bombarded several times a day with variations on the same theme; then columnists who are convinced that "everyone is like Njegoševa"; then politicians and their apologists and even effendi, who have a constant need to explain something to us; etc, etc.

If it weren't for Baćko Milačić and his brilliant spirit in a small space, I wouldn't even be on Facebook anymore.

* * *

It takes place in a bar shop:

"Should I put this in the bag?"

"Put it first in the accusative case, I swear to God!"