I’m Misssy: Fly Me!
Ian Brown: He’ll cut yer fookin’ hands off, apparently
I have just had the misfortune to travel by aeroplane in the UK.
I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice to say, Meeester and I were inconvenienced greatly throughout. We were subject to non-cleared icy runways, cancellations, delays, lost baggage, systems that don’t work, bad attitudes and soggy chicken sandwiches. It is safe to say that normal economy class passengers are treated like peasants and the only way to guarantee a journey that doesn’t induce a potential aneurysm or inevitable prison term, is to drive yourself by car to your destination. Or go by Private Jet, or at a pinch First Class.
A friend of mine is privy to the inside workings of British Airways and confirms this to be the case. If you are neither Business or First Class they couldn’t give the slightest nugget of shit about you. Fact.
At Heathrow we were ferried by body odour stinking bus from International Arrivals to Domestic Arrivals. This was despite the fact that we had not been anywhere international. They just had spat us poor passengers out at the wrong gate like the human chunks of vomitus we seem to be.
As we were bussed along the gunnels of the airport we noticed several signs proclaiming special VIP routes. Sign posts to the upper strata of rarified existence where one is kept separate from the Hoi Polloi and Muggles. An existence that few of us will ever savour.
Not for them, the ubiquitous unsmiling she-dragon at the check-in desk who when asked for assistance looks at you like you’ve just farted directly into her face.
Not for them, the lounges filled with disgruntled passengers who know nothing, other than the fact that their plane is going nowhere fast and their kids are re-enacting Lord of the Flies right in front their faces.
Not for them, the missed first day of their holiday because the parochial airport they are flying from didn’t read the weather forecast for snow and take action timeously.
Not for them, the lost bag with the kids’ presents in because they wouldn’t allow it on the plane as you were 1 minute later than some made up cut off point for getting luggage on board.
Not for them, the word “Sorry” uttered like it is an expletive.
Check these new (temporary) personal heroes of mine out:
Peter Buck from REM: Airplane rage incident 2002. I’m guessing he was not a shiny happy person that day. Charged but not convicted.
Ian Brown from Madchester: Airplane rage incident and prison term after threatening to cut the hands of an air stewardess off. She apparently offered him duty free. Did he perhaps mistake her comment for the oft heard “Your solo career is utter gash, Brown”. I’m just putting it out there…
Courtney Love, Hole: Airplane rage incident 2003. Her nurse wasn’t allowed to attend to her as she was sat in a different class. Two things occur. When was the word “nurse” changed to mean “dealer” and why was Love so tight as to have her “nurse” upgraded if she needed her so badly? Anyway, she said lots of swearwords loudly and folk don’t like that. To be honest, I said lots of swearwords yesterday but only under my breath to Meeester. I guess that’s the difference.
Diana Ross, La-la-land: Involved in a “security breach” after she complained loudly and aggressively about being inappropriately touched during a body search . I hear ya, sister, I had such an invasive search at Schiphol Airport by a female security attendant that I think it officially qualifies as a same sex encounter. But were 10 of your students standing watching whilst your tits were expertly cupped under the bra and your pudenda grabbed roughly by a large Dutch woman, Diana? Well, mine were, love. Mine were. I win.
Next trip for me is one to Paris in February. I wonder what treats await me there.
Apologies to my blogfriend Tattooed Atheist who is one of the fine people staffing the planes of the world, who no doubt have to deal with an enormous amount of utter horrors. But just let me vent for today, it’s my birthday and British Airways suck.
