Lined up at the Jetstar counter, a panic stricken young couple with MONSTROUSLY LARGE LUGGAGE, pushed past the two couples including Mr FD and I, claiming they were late for their flight and were slowly dealt with by the Jetstar attendant, who accepted them over the waiting customers. They danced off through security as the attendant wandered away and mooched in the background for several minutes before returning to the counter and calmly asking “Anyone else for Melbourne?”
“Ah yes…”
“Wow, you’re lucky we are running a little late, because I was supposed to close about five minutes ago.”
By some miracle, the attendant still breathes.
Before we left home I made a bet with Mr FD that, as usua,l I would be the one pulled aside to be tested for chemical residue. I mean, middle aged, Anglo Saxon women with an Australian accent are always blowing up planes aren’t they? Mr FD did not take the bet, and so he lost what could have been a memorable payment.
By some miracle, the security guard still breathes.
We had an aisle and middle seat. The window seat was eventually filled by a young man who had the appearance of a serious drug user. Half an hour into the flight he need to use the bathroom, so up we all get and rotated into the aisle. He was gone quite a long time. From that return, he was on constant rotation to the bathroom for the entire flight. He mumbled something about “a big drink before the flight” but he was either incubating ebola, or doing lines in the bathroom, no drink is that big!
By some miracle, he still breathes. Well, he was when he tottered from the plane.
To try and balance the trip budget, and because we had all day to get to our hotel, we decided to take the airport flyer which found 196 of us sardined into a 10 seater minivan. I had the edge bar of a double seat on which to perch for a trip into the city that was soon revealed to take in every inner city hotel in Melbourne. I tried to stay positive and tell myself that at least I would get a scenic tour of the city, but a glance to the left and right brought the realisation that they had decorated all the windows with decals and logo, so there was scant clear viewing areas. If I hunched my chin to my knee and twisted my head to the right I could just make out a tree trunk now and again. Of course, our hotel was the very last hotel on the route.
By some miracle, the driver still breathes.
On the return trip we were at the airport in ample time. The desk staff took one look at Mr FD and I and decided we were perfect for seating in the emergency exit row. My FD and his crook knees, and I and my “exercise is moving from one end of the couch to the other” attitude, were asked to lift a 15 kilo escape door and throw it from the plane. It meant extra leg room, so we agreed. If it meant I was first out of the plane I was all for it. Tough cheddar for the rest of you.
It was a three seat row, and finally the third person arrived. A woman older than Mr FD and I, who was only minutes into her seat adjacent to the escape door, when she told me about her neck and back issues. I burst into giggles. This is what they rely on to save you, people! Fear all ye who embark here.
We were lucky that we were actually on the flight to act as life savers, because the printed ticket we were given told us to go to gate 25, where we seconded ourselves waiting to be called over the address system that was of course, just a mumbled jumble of sounds and splutters. Mr FD just happened to look up at the flight board to see that our flight was now boarding from gate 30. So much for being early.
By some miracle, we still breathe.
Flamingo Dancer's Blog 