Alors, mon avion a decolle a Toulouse Blagnac ce matin, j’etait trop fatigue, donc j’ai pris mon temps de quitter l’avion, puis j’etait la derniere passenger qui descende. As soon as I stepped off the plane, the crisp-ness and high-tech look of the connector bridge to the airport and the following corridor really impressed me. This part of the terminal must have been newly built. Being a couple decades younger than the last two couples off the plane, I caught up to them after the second sign blinking “sortie”. The five of us round the next turn, and come upon a sign with letters at least half my height, expressing the meaning of “exit” in both English and French, with an huge arrow pointing to a closed wooden door to the right of the sign. Naturally, I assume that that door must be the door to exit. But as soon as one of us turns the doorknob, the ironically illogicality of the French system proves itself: the door does not budge. We look left, behind, up, down, forward, to the right again… see another door and an elevator. All closed, locked, nonfunctional, an illusion of EXIT. I start to feel like one of the characters from the famous Existentialist play “NO EXIT”, as I examine my compatriots.. I swear after a while I would find something annoying about every one of them. But before accepting our fate, we look for a way out: the way we came. Nope, closed, and connector bridge disconnected: the door we came through is now the door to hell, or if not, then certainly a lovely death of 2 stories in the negative g.
We paraded back towards the HUGE SIGN again, looking out the windows on the way, which reflected nothing but a deserted corridor. Where did the rest of the flight go anyway? I try the doors this time, push, pull, slide, lift.. nothing. As we are all about to abandon all hope, one of the men spies a tiny green box in the shadows attached to the wall to the left, with a tiny little button, and writing underneath it, to which he had to poke his face 3 inches away to be able to read. And the magic button read: “Puissez si nessecaire.” Which basically means, “if absolutely necessary, you can press this button.” But ah, should we go into the philosophy of necessary? Necessary for what? Isn’t it obvious, to open the door you dumbbutt… Duh. So that’s how I escaped the french corridor of existence, and put to “logical shame” at the same time.