Travel Dispatches: Keep Calm and Drink Guinness?

aer_lingus_over_dublin_by_pabluche-d4q5dsl-1.jpg

Taken from deviantart.com

Flying back from Dublin. Self-satisfied and smug, having sourced a helluva deal on a return to Newark with Aer Lingus for the upcoming annual summer sojourn to the Homeland. I haven’t flown Ireland’s national airline across the pond in years. But they’re cheap this year and if the movie listings for international flights in Cara, the inflight magazine are anything to go by (I mean The Shape of Water? Blade Runner 2049? I don’t get out to the movies very often) as well as the generally pleasant, friendly and efficient service so far, the experience promises to be pretty sweet.

I must have missed a thousand pithy punchlines in the process of being starburst/chewy sweet peeler for the missus, I muse (the fecking things are wrapped so fecking tightly!). It’s my special job in the first and last half an hour of any flight while ‘er next to me winces in pain and looks — and probably feels — like that false explosive head in Total Recall that keeps glitching on ‘Two. Weeks.‘ as Schwarzenegger’s character is passing through Martian customs. I take a moment to mourn the lost inspiration as my beloved grits her teeth and grunts ‘for fuck’s sake keep the ’em coming! This is bloody painful!’

Just keep peeling…

In the last twenty minutes as we can feel the rumblings of the landing gear underneath, I excuse myself and my geriatric bladder in a 39 year old body to pee. I make my way shakily to the back of the plane.

Left restroom: vacant. Open door, squeeze in, side strut. Jump back promptly. Immediate horror. I don’t want to know who has used the bathroom sink in an airplane to wash their hair but they’ve left it clogged to shit and they’ve got the sense of accountability and the personal hygiene of a university freshman.

Leave. Unacceptable. I’m too old to accept standards like this in my toilet experiences.

Across the aisle. Slide latch. Open door. Side strut squeeze in. Latch lock. Sink? Not clogged. Good. But oh fuck.

Is that?

No.

Great.

Either I’m traveling with Bleeding Gums Murphy, Meyer Wolfsheim, or there is a molar shaped sweetcorn kernel in the sink that refuses to tumble down the drain.

But I grin. I bear it. I relieve myself, wash my hands, molar kernel incrementally moving back and forth like a stubborn pebble resisting the undertow.

Shudder. Open the door. Slide out and return to seat. Smile composedly and imitate normality to wife.

Resolve self to re-check British Airways flight prices when we get back within wifi range.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Sunny in London

A Florida girl's guide to finding SUN and FUN

Politics blog | The Guardian

Musings of an expatriate

BBC News - UK Politics

Musings of an expatriate

NYT > Politics

Musings of an expatriate

EXPATLOG

life without borders

World in Motion

Reflections on culture, politics, philosophy and world events during an era of crisis and transformation

%d bloggers like this: