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Plane Sailing

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I know. I’m lax.

Things are still progressing in job-land, and I have applications in for places. I missed the one I last wanted despite a second interview, because I am too expensive and the other applicant that got that far was cheaper.

Ah well. I’ll just have to get something better.

I was down for best part of a week with some kind of snotty, coughy Dengue fever or something, but just recovered in time to go to Rome.

So, without further ado… here’s my most amusing anecdote for the recent weeks:

Flight back from Rome Da Vinci to Leeds/Bradford airport. Shuffled on and crammed like sardines as usual.

Mrs M and myself wait patiently for the food and drink trolley to come round. We want enough beer to float a liner, a sandwich and some junk food. And of course the free bag of cashew nuts on offer when you buy these things, please.

“I’m sorry sir, but we can’t serve the nuts.”

“They’re on offer. We get them free. I’d like my free nuts.”

“I’m sorry sir, but we can’t serve the nuts as we have a nut-allergy on board.”

WHAT? because someone, possibly forty seats away from me has a nut allergy I’m not getting the free nuts I’m entitled to? The bastards. Perhaps they fear that I’m going to sniff the poor nut-allergy man out and start throwing cashews at him, trying to land one in his mouth?

I fear this terror at the prospect of nut allergies may have gone too far when a plane load of more than a hundred people cannot eat nuts because one person on board is allergic to them.

I am allergic to fish, but I note they didn’t ask me and felt quite content to serve tuna sandwiches throughout the cabin, the mere smell of which threatens to make me vomit onto the passenger in front. I wouldn’t dream of stopping someone on board eating fish unless they started throwing it at me!

And when we finally arrived at LB airport, we were made to sit on board the plane for a further 20 mins, all engines off and only 30 feet from the terminal, because another plane was boarding and they couldn’t risk getting us mixed up! I swear this country is run by Doctor Bunsen Honeydew and Beaker! Only muppets could be this disorganised.

Finally, once we were in the terminal, we went to baggage retrieval. Mrs M’s back was one of the first out. They my parents’ close together. Finally, I saw mine come out and, as I waited, saw it topple gently off the belt into the no-mans-land in the middle. I tried to reach for it, but couldn’t. Mrs M went to see the man in the yellow vest about it and his solution was this:

“Sorry, but you’ll have to wait until all the luggage is collected and the belt is empty so we can turn it off.”

The resulting explosion from the ever-patient Mrs M would have melted an ordinary person’s face, but not cool-hand Dick, who was adamant. So I waved across the belt at him and shouted.

“This is bloody ridiculous. Can you please get me my case.”

“Sorry, but I can’t cross the belt in the circumstances.”

“Well I bloody can” quoth I, and jumped on to the moving belt, down the other side, collected my case and passed it over to my dad, before nimbly climbing back like a sure-footed gazelle on the apparently oh-so-perilous moving rubber belt.

What IS this country coming to? I have decided I am the man who will begin to take a stand against health and safety nerds. I will defy H&S stupidity unless there is a serious danger to my own limbs. I will carry a bag of nuts with me onto every aircraft. I will not tolerate lack of organisation as an excuse to delay over a hundred people from getting home.


Later on this afternoon, I may even run with scissors!



Written by SJAT

January 11, 2011 at 3:41 pm

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