I Just Want To Get On My Plane

Travelling can be a fun and novel occasion. Some people are all about the holiday and can't wait for the travelling to be over, but I quite like the build-up. I enjoy getting up at improper and unnaturally early times just to make it to the airport. I quite like the feel of an airport lounge and the last-gasp attempt to gather reading materials to entertain and inform during the long trip.

In addition, I have never and will never be the kind of person who makes a hassle when confronted with security measures. Even if you think they're unnecessary, they're there, so get used to it. However, when looking forward to a sunny trip abroad and having not safely made my way through to the departure gates, I can be a tad anxious and irritable.

"Oi mate," a rather burly gentleman squealed. I turned, hoping he wasn't addressing me, but indeed he was. "Excuse me mate, I think he meant to say," I muttered to my travelling partner. Big mistake, instantly. "Could you please step out of the line a second," the aggravating fellow said.

What followed was much too insignificant to remember, suffice to say it involved the gentleman saying "calm down" and "just step out" a lot. Eventually, after redirecting me to another check-in desk for no apparent reason, he left me alone. Only staring at me every now and then. After picking up my tickets and moving towards the main security area, he was still glaring. I put it down to some kind of bad craziness, perhaps he was having a bad day.

When I finally made it into the departure area, my friends had had enough. The bags had become too heavy, the sleep too deprived and the beach too far away. I however, had regained my sense of optimism after the encounter with said bad crazy man. Off to the magazine and book store!

From the moment I found the fiction section, looked up the authors I was aiming for and saw that they weren't in stock, I knew that it was going to be a negative shopping experience. I wandered up to the counter and asked the lady behind the desk if she had any copies of the books I was after in the storeroom, perhaps? "What you see is what you got, it's an airport." I smiled at this foolish reply, "I know it's an airport," I replied, "clearly it's also an airport without books, such is life".

I was feeling dejected, I was feeling hassled and I couldn't wait to leave the country, let alone the airport. Where had all the nice people gone? I aimed for a pub that I knew did a fairly good value cooked breakfast. At least this would start off my holiday in a pleasant way, with a lined stomach before heading off to a faraway land. I was right to maintain my faith in the magic that is the pre-holiday majestical airport lounge. Alas, my breakfast arrived. It was cold.

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