Back and forth across the sky the planes do be flying, and a passenger I am on occasion. Ok enough of the Yoda talk.
It was that time again, trip over time to go home. A flight had to be taken or two in fact to get me from port of discharge to home. In fact it was nearly all modes of transport day. Shank’s pony from the jetty to a taxi, a surreal hike across a field behind the jetty, where we arrived at a 2 metre high steel gate. It wasn’t really a gate but a piece of steel used for armoured concrete cut into the shape of the gap between the two fences and padlocked shut. There we were met by an armed security guard who was in the process of opening the “gate”, “Grazi” says I in my best Italian, “prego, (pause) buongiorno” says the guard, I probably should have started with “buongiorno” too but it was 05:30 in the morning.
The taxi was of course late and the driver was totally uninterested, he didn’t like football and when I asked what the vineyards were producing he said “wine”. Well there you go. I thought I might have gotten Chianti or something. Anyway we got to the airport in time and he left us at the arrivals, which was half a kilometre from departures, but what can you do?
When we finally arrived at the check in desk there was only a queue for 1st class and business class, so we stood there. Then along came a very shiny girl, in regulation airport checkin desk uniform, hair tied back tight and shiny, shiny tanned face, shiny smile, shiny make up and spectacularly shining legs. It must have been something to do with the proximity of the nuclear power station or something, or maybe there is a pill that you can take that makes you look so shiny. But it is invariably air hostesses and check in staff that have this look.
The queue was creeping along and growing, and there was something wrong with the computers, which was delaying the whole show. Some people from the back of the queue started to come up and stare menacingly towards the counter, sort of half standing on their toes, looking and then going back. A pointless exercise, did it help the queue to move faster, no. But they kept on doing it anyway, as if standing a distance off and looking irritated was going to get them into the good books with miss shiny, nah. We got our boarding cards in the end, you always do, nearly always but pretty damn close to always. And miss shiny was very professional and courteous, and she smiled the whole time, must be a pill for that too.
Next up security. This is where the patience is tested the most. I don’t mind security, I don’t mind security guards, they have a job to do. But stupid passengers with big metal belts, and scissors in the toilet bag and bottles of water in their back packs. That wind’s me up. Deep breath, count to 10. OK keep going. After security you have these heavily armed Caribineri, I repeat after security, with big black shirts and big black guns and batons and radios and combats, (the black shirts…..were a bit faded mind). Now what purpose do these people have? And who will be tasting the lead from the big H&K’s? The stupid passengers with water in the back packs, or the lucky punter who managed to sneak a gun through the x-ray machine and metal detector and down frisking? Because if these guys and gals open up witha da biga guns, it would be carnage, and one hell of a redecorating bill.
Onto the plane, and sleep. Then Munich and a big sniffer dog buts his nose into your crotch, OK pass on by, and next plane, here we had a team of air host and hostess that were obviously in practice for ballroom dancing, the smiles were fantastic and everlasting, and the quick step up the aisle followed by a buttock clench behind the drinks trolley, I probably shouldn’t have noticed that, but he did it a few times, in the vicinity of my seat, hard not to notice. What can you do?, you see these things sometimes, the pilot ducked into the forward toilet and on his return to the cockpit he had a furtive hole scratch, you couldn’t miss it unless your eyes were closed. I wish mine had been!
Good to be home again.
Recent Comments