Hate x Hate
Today when my colleague and I came back to the airfield I saw a Super Petrel that was pushed by several people along the runway.
I wondered what had happened and got out of the car to help them. Apparently only the front tire had a puncture, so nothing serious. I still helped them to push the airplane to the hangar all the way at the end of the airfield.
On my way back I stopped at another hangar where two guys had just pushed a motorplane inside. In the hangar I saw an old Schleicher Ka 8 hanging from the ceiling. It immediately made me hopeful that maybe they have sailplane operations at this airfield and I might get a chance to fly this beautiful plane.
So I asked one of the guys if they actually fly the Ka 8 or if it is just decoration. Just decoration. So sad. They don't know what's good. They only fly what's easy and fast, they have the money. They don't care. The guy was already at the other side of the motorplane. But I wanted to continue the chat we had. So I followed him around.
He was not at all in the mood. “Wait a second.” he said.
I waited. For minutes. He didn't get back to me.
“What a fucking asshole.” I thought. Doesn't know what's really good about flying and doesn't even want to talk to me, that stupid guy that loves sailplanes.
How can one be so ignorant and snobbish?
I hate that guy. I hate that flying club. Nobody there gave me any attention.
To be honest, I also love that feeling of light hate in a way. It's better to admit that it's simply stupid to expect any support for gliding activity in Norway in winter.
I should have come here with a motorplane license. And I don't even have my sailplane pilot's licencse with me. So why bother?
Simply because I love the feeling of hate, of anger. There's something satisfying about it. And maybe I was even searching for it when I decided to talk to that asshole.
Who knows?