Wait, what.

laughingsquid:

Packa Pappas Kappsäck by Michael Johansson

“Sir, can you step aside and open your suitcase.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Just step aside and open your suitcase, sir.”

John was late for his plane. Again. He could never seem to get anywhere on time. He often set his clock 15 minutes ahead to trick himself, but the problem with tricking oneself is that one is usually in on the trick. When the clock read 7:30, John would whisper, “it’s 7:15.” John is too smart to pull one over on John.

Hurrying, he opened the suitcase.

“What’s that?”

“A suitcase.”

“Please open it.”

John opened the second suitcase.

“Is that another suitcase?”

“Yes.”

“Could you open it up?”

John opened the third suitcase.

“Is that —”

“I have 15 suitcases.”

“Why do you have a suitcase holding 15 suitcases?”

“I don’t, I have a suitcase holding 14 suitcases.”

“Why?”

“How else would I carry 14 suitcases?”

“Why do you need 15 suitcases?”

John fell silent and his face dropped, limp with sad revelation. Months of carrying around a suitcase in a suitcase in a suitcase in a suitcase in a suitcase in a suitcase in a suitcase in a suitcase in a suitcase in a suitcase in a suitcase in a suitcase in a suitcase in a suitcase in a suitcase, and he had never once wondered why.

“Because repetition breeds ignorant acceptance,” he hypothesized.

The TSA Agent didn’t care.