|Tired airline passenger|
So yes, I am back in Trinidad. The flight was not uneventful. From start to finish, there were the moments which make my life such a comedy treat.
1. The taxi ride from home to Gatwick. My cousin uses the guy all the time and trusts him. Turning up late did not inspire confidence, but he was wearing a full suit, so I forgave the slight time casualty. Yes. A suit. To drive a taxi. I was not sure whether to be impressed or amused. In any event, I was also warned that he is a devout Christian and before we could turn the corner, he asks, "Do you love God?" I do love God, friend, but I did not want to talk about it. The sermon was short thankfully but in hindsight, I needed it. To face the day. And the traffic. I sat stewing in angry juices for a while as we sat in London traffic, but somehow by God's grace and by some rather un-Christian driving, I got to Gatwick International safe and sound and without missing my flight.
2. The seat. So I have a habit of using online check-in to get myself a comfortable seat and in my opinion, with my budget, comfortable does not mean first class or whatever fancy name they call the posh sleeper seats. Comfortable means...the bulkhead seat.
|The bulkhead seats|
I have not had any bad experiences in the past. I crave legroom and also the convenience of either not having to get up to let my seatmate with an overactive bladder jam their backside in my face as they try to get out, or me jamming my backside in theirs. Also, when you're tired and want to sleep, you don't need people waking you up so they could go get their pee on. The bulkhead seat is my answer to convenience. I will open the exit door, no problem. I do not even mind sitting near the washroom - once I can stretch my legs and not be bothered by silly people.
The thing about the bulkhead seat is that they are right next to the seats typically reserved for passengers travelling with small children. Again, never a problem in the past but these 2 babies yesterday, while very good babies, hardly crying, very cute and happy, seemed to have some serious intestinal issues. lol. I mean, how much can a baby shit? Apparently, a lot! After a while, the cute chubby cheeks and goo goo gah gah sounds were not enough to save them from getting a face.
3. The delay. Add a delay to the rank smell of baby poo, and you get an irritable traveller. While I appreciate the airline's deep regard for my safety and I am glad the plane did not have to crash land anywhere, sitting in St Lucia for 2 hours when all I wanted was to get to my house, after already sitting on a plane for 7 or so hours, was not fun.
|Blame it on the Henny|
Then the special lady in the Customs line. The customs declaration clearly states that one is allowed 2 bottles of alcohol and anything above that, you have to declare. It's not hard. Hiding 9 bottles of alcohol in between your panties and sweatpants is not going to change that. This, in addition, to the 2 bottles picked up in Duty Free. What? Is a bar yuh running?? Of course, when the suitcases containing the undeclared goods go through the scanner, the form is handed over to the Customs officer where she sees that the passenger has dishonestly ticked "nothing to declare" next to the spirits box, I sucked my teeth, rolled my eyes, and knew I would have at least another 5 minutes of waiting. I already looked like death warmed over, but really??
And after all this, getting home, taking that shower and crashing like a stone out of absolute exhaustion, my eyes were open at 4am? What's the deal here?