Top of the mornin to ya.

Listen, I know we’re all just trying to feel like the world isn’t swallowing us whole, but I really need you to get off your power trip and just look the other way here.

You’re acting like you’re seated atop the Iron Throne, and I hate to be this guy but…it’s a luggage scale. You’re not a king, you’re a check-in agent, and I implore you to let me check my item and get on my merry way.

I know the limit is 50 pounds but why should I be punished for some hard-earned prosperity? What do you want me to say- “sorry I’m so flush with gold that it goes over your stupid mortal weight limit?”

Yeah I’m aware the pot is probably 30% of the weight distribution, thanks so much for reminding me. Again.

I would just like to point out that I am 6 inches tall, so really, overall, I take up way less space on the plane than your average Tom, Declan, or Ronan; and that’s with me pot of gold safely secured in cargo.

No I will not consider leaving the pot behind, thank you very much for your dumb suggestion. This cauldron has been in my family for 500 years, and is the only thing I have left after fleeing the familial peat bog for refuge in Toledo.

Have you ever lumbered away, cumbersome pot in hand, from the only home you’ve ever known as banshees overtook your ancestral lands?

Well, I pray you never do.

Banshees. They’ll overtake your peat bog.

Fine. FINE, you unyielding weight-obsessed despot.I’ll take my pot and my pride and we’ll hitchhike to Denver instead. I’m sure the road will rise up to meet us unlike your empathy at my plight.

The jig you dance when you know you’re immune to lead poisoning.

Joke’s on you because when you were searching my pot for contraband I failed to mention that all this gold is coated in lead.

Slainte.