When logic is left at the check-in desk

Here’s a typical scenario: everything revolves around kilograms. But not the ones that really matter. Not the total weight, not the actual load, not the common-sense realisation that a person and their belongings form a single unit. No. The most important thing there is a single detail – the suitcase. That mysterious object which, it seems, has more influence on the flight than the passenger themselves.

And then that wonderful absurdity begins. In one situation, everything fits perfectly within the ‘norms’, even though the overall picture is clearly heavier than it ought to be. In another, everything suddenly becomes a problem, even though in reality the difference is perhaps smaller than a morning cup of coffee. But rules are rules. As we know, they aren’t meant to be logical. They’re meant to exist.

There is something extraordinarily charming about the way such systems ignore context. It’s as if a conscious choice has been made to ignore the bigger picture and focus on a single detail that is easiest to control. After all, it’s much simpler to say ‘it’s too hard’ whilst looking at a single figure than to start thinking more broadly. And thinking, as we know, is dangerous – it might just lead to logic.

Of course, all this is presented as a guarantee of security, order and efficiency. And we, as good participants in the system, nod our heads. Because if something is written in the rules, it must make sense. Even if that meaning is hidden so deeply that not even the rule-makers themselves can find it.

Sometimes it seems that such situations are a test of a kind. Not of our capacity, but of our patience. How much absurdity can we accept without arguing? How many times can we put up with decisions that clearly have no connection to reality? And most importantly – will we be able to accept all this with a smile, because, after all, ‘that’s the way it is’?

The most ironic thing is that everyone understands perfectly well that it’s illogical. Both staff and passengers. But the system works not because it’s sensible, but because no one seriously questions it. It simply is. Like the weather. Like queues. Like delayed flights.

In the end, there is only one option left – to accept this absurdity as an inevitable part of the journey. As an extra experience you get with your ticket. After all, travel broadens the mind. Especially when you see just how far rules can stray from logic.

So next time you stand at the scales weighing not just your suitcase but your life choices, remember: this isn’t about weight. It’s about a system that manages to turn a simple thing into a complicated one, and the obvious into the incomprehensible. And somehow still expects everyone to accept this as a perfectly normal phenomenon.




And if you thought the absurdity had reached its limit here – let me disappoint you. The real logic fest begins when it’s not just one person travelling, but, say, two. It would seem simple enough: there’s a total weight limit, people share their luggage, arrange things as they see fit, and travel in peace. But no. Here you’ve made a fundamental mistake – you’ve tried to think.

Because in certain places, especially in the US, another, higher-level rule comes into play: weight cannot be divided logically. It must be divided… aesthetically. Mathematically pleasing. Symmetrically. Because, after all, we all know – a plane takes off better when the suitcases feel equally valued.

So if two people have, say, a 40 kg combined baggage allowance, it would be natural for one to pack 15 kg and the other 25 kg. One has taken less, the other more – the balance is maintained, everything is fine. But no. This is where the drama begins. Suddenly it turns out that such a distribution is almost a crime against aviation.

“You can’t do that,” says the system. Why? Because one suitcase has too little, the other too much. And the fact that the total weight is perfectly fine somehow no longer matters. The most important thing is that each suitcase lives its own separate life, strictly defined by the rules. No cooperation whatsoever. No logic. Just individual responsibility for every zip.

And then that comical performance begins at the airport: people stand by the scales, open their suitcases, pull out socks, shoes, shampoo, shifting things from one to the other until that sacred balance is achieved – 20 kg each. Because only then does the system calm down. Only then does the world feel safe again.

It all seems like some strange ritual. Like an offering to the gods, only instead of a sacrifice – hand cream or an extra pair of jeans – moving from one suitcase to another. And everyone takes part in this process with serious faces, as if it were a matter of life and death.

And yet again – no one can fully explain why this is the case. Will the plane really fly worse if one suitcase is heavier than the other? Will those few extra kilos in one place really cause chaos in the cabin? Or is it simply more convenient to control the process, because rules that seem illogical are harder to challenge?

Ultimately, you realise that in such situations, it is not the result that matters, but the process. It’s not how much your belongings weigh, but how they’re distributed. Not reality, but its interpretation. And if that interpretation requires you to stand in the airport and redistribute your life by the kilo – then that’s just the way it has to be.

And so another rule of travel is born: it’s not enough to have the right weight. You need to have the right philosophy on weight. Because otherwise, you might not only have to pay extra, but also face an existential question – why is 40 kg fine, but 15 + 25 is a problem?

The answer, of course, is simple: because that’s how it’s decided. And decisions, as we know, don’t necessarily have to make sense. Sometimes it’s enough that they simply exist.