Setting: A cozy apartment in Berlin, early spring. The windows are fogged from cooking lunch.
Anna: (pulls open the living room window wide) Phew! It smells like curry and onions in here. I’m opening the kitchen window too.
Lena: (rushing in, wide-eyed) Anna, stop! Don’t open both windows at once!
Anna: What? Why not? It’s stuffy in here. We need Durchzug—cross ventilation!
Lena: No! You never air a house from both sides at the same time. It brings bad luck! You don’t want the spirits getting confused and stuck in the crosswind.
Anna: Spirits? Are we airing out ghosts now too? Lena, come on. That’s just an old superstition. Cross-ventilation is literally the best way to clear the air.
Lena: Maybe for you science types, but my Oma swore by it. She said her neighbor opened windows on both sides once—and the next day her cat vanished and her husband broke his hip. Coincidence? I don’t think so.
Anna: Maybe the cat was smarter than the superstition and ran away from all the stale air. And hips break more easily than superstitions. Especially in icy March.
Lena: You always mock it, but these things stick for a reason. It’s not just my Oma. Even my landlord warned me about it when I moved in. He said crosswinds can “invite misfortune.”
Anna: I’m not mocking, I’m just saying let’s separate tradition from physics. Crosswind doesn’t “invite misfortune.” It invites fresh air and lower mold risk. We literally studied this in ventilation science at uni. Want me to draw you a diagram?
Lena: No diagrams! I trust vibes more than vents.
Anna: (laughing) So if I light some sage while cross-venting, does that cancel out the bad luck?
Lena: Ugh, you and your loopholes. I just feel uneasy. Like something’s going to tip over.
Anna: That’s probably just the breeze. Look, I get it. Superstitions feel like a warm blanket—familiar, cozy. But when the blanket gets moldy, you’ve gotta air it out.
Lena: Very poetic. But if something weird happens after this, I’m blaming you.
Anna: Deal. But if your plants suddenly start thriving and your sourdough finally rises, I’m taking credit.
Lena: Ha! If that happens, maybe I’ll consider scientific reasoning. Or maybe the air spirits are just in a good mood.
Anna: Maybe both. Let’s say science and spirits teamed up—like a cosmic HVAC partnership.
Lena: Fine. But leave the back window open for only ten minutes. Just in case.
Anna: (mock saluting) Aye aye, captain of compromise.
[Later, over coffee]
Lena: You know… the air does feel nicer now.
Anna: Told you. No curses, no plagues, just physics.
Lena: Well, maybe the ghosts are just resting today.
Anna: Or maybe they’re grateful we finally let them stretch their legs.
Science Vs Superstition 
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