Tonight is San Joan, summer’s shortest night and the most ruckus of holidays. A firework laced celebration where everyone lights there own. And no one can wait. Once the stores start selling, the explosions start too. Day and night. Last Friday after dinner, there was so much activity we abandoned the yard and went downstairs to watch a big sound track action movie. Except for a couple of huge singular bangs, we pretty much drown them out. But in the morning we opened our door -- and found our mailbox punked. The lid was halfway down the block.
At the police station the officer said (I think his eyes were laughing) that the firecrackers only happen twice a year, most people don’t cause trouble, and no, they can’t send a sentry. On the way home, I noticed the 24 hour security camera on the building across the street and knew it must have a clip of the pyromaniac. If I was lucky, it would show enough of his face to prank him back with a wild-west-style wanted poster. The big sticker on the camera said the tape was limitless and digitally stored, if only they would give it to me. I gave them the date and time. I waited for the reply. Yes, we would be happy to give you the tape. But, actually, um...you see...there is none -- that camera is a dummy!
Now I find out, if you are hip to all this in the first place, you always leave the mailbox open during the run up to San Joan. And you already know that the fireworks stores stock the popular M80, a stubby stick of dynamite, nicknamed the “mailbox blaster.”
By Maia Pay Ozguc
Barcelona Impressions. Be curious. Be present. Be Barcelona!