I’ve had better days.
Kulula this morning, petrol’s going up again tomorrow, E-Tolls start at midnight and I’ve just read that the FAA are to allow cell-phone calls on airline flights. As Lewis Carroll would say, Frabjous Joy.
The romance of air travel has diminished in parallel with seat width and pitch, and anyone who looks forward to flying needs psychiatric assistance.
The background noise of flight attendants failing to be funny while they try to tell you things and persuade you they really care about more than simply getting your bum in the seat, a seat which incidentally has a yielding softness similar to that of the new granite worktop you have just installed in the kitchen.
Sitting next to, or even worse between Kobus Wiese and Toks van der Linde. Or two African ladies of traditional construction.
The seat in front which reclines immediately after take-off, and prevents you reading a newspaper or using your table to host a cup of overpriced brown sludge masquerading as coffee. If I wanted someone’s head in my lap, I’d at least buy her supper and a movie first.
Children screaming, loud adolescent boys-only laughter as Fred Supersales and his buddies compete to pick up the trolley dolly.
In one memorable case, I was subjected to a US Junior School Band on a touring holiday playing “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” in alleged four part harmony on Kazoo for two hours.
Grumpy old farts like me complaining about anything and everything.
Now, add to all of that mix, Fred Supersales shouting at the office that the Widgets order must be filled now, followed by a high-volume conversation with Jim Not-Quite-So-Supersales covering an in-depth examination of why all his superiors are witless goons who couldn’t find their arses in the dark even using both hands, and why the company would be really great if only Fred was in charge.
There is also Chatty Alice discussing either the gynaecological misfortunes of a close friend or an in-depth analysis of her suspicion that her BFFs relationship is hitting the buffers because her husband/boyfriend is playing away.
Have you also noticed that the normal response to poor quality reception is to shout louder? Imagine 30 rows of that.
I might look at video conferencing with a lot more affection in future. Or make a cell phone jamming device. Flying becomes even less attractive.
Oh, Frabjous Joy.