… time seems to be non-existent as I’m sitting here, still on the plane on my way back to good old Europe. And I’m still wedged between the couple and their whining child and two weird teenagers.
My joy is indescribable as the airborne waiters and waitresses – so called flight assistants – start distributing dinner. (After all it’s evening and I’m taking an overnight flight!) Tonight on the menu: fish or chicken!
Well, since I’m in danger of food poisoning with either, I’m adventurous and take the chicken! (Salmonellae, go to hell!!!)
Thankfully – finally being occupied with something different than writing, magazines, not moving – I grab my tray and lift the aluminium foil from my fragrant dish. O-kay! Where is the chicken? I did choose, chicken, didn’t I? After some digging around with my plastic fork I discover a small piece underneath the strange looking yellow syrupy sauce. A small helping of rice and string beans, complementing the chicken at least in colour, are in danger of getting lost in this endless sea of yellow glib and I immediately rush to the rescue!
My first reaction? Could be worse! I dig out the chicken, scrape off the excess sauce and finally enjoy my dinner! (Just for your information, the couple of salad leaves are excellent, the thawing roll has seen better days and dessert consists of the ingenious creation of vanilla cream and fruit salad!) All in all, it’s edible and main reason for plane food is to be occupied and get tired, isn’t it?
Anyway, I’m glad not to have chosen the fish dish which looks even worse in a red tomato sauce – and is DANGEROUS! Especially with a kid nearby, which exactly proves my point as it not only covers itself with it but also spatters tomato sauce on everything else in its close vicinity. Mostly its parents, thank God! Only my NY Times suffers some splatters – which I have strategically placed on my lap, just in case!
I skip dull coffee and tea, instead I wriggle out of my seat to stagger back stiffly to the restrooms. Where – as is the custom – I have to wait for hours before being able to squeeze inside. Feeling cramped is an understatement, good thing I’m not claustrophobic. I really don’t get the hype of joining the high mile club since turning around alone is a task for a circus artist!
Ready for the night I return to my seat and to my relief toddler and parents prepare themselves for some sleep, seems the kid is wiped out by all this throwing stuff and food around … so the only annoying neighbours left are the teens. I decide to take the incredible risk and take a nap myself, even though I know this will be practically impossible, but I more or less manage to drift in and out of sleep for most of this short night.
To my utter surprise the rest of the flight passes basically uneventful – apart from more food throwing by the little freshly rested devil and the half scary behaviour by hungover smelly teens.
I’m weeping uncontrollably as I’m allowed to step off the plane after all those endless hours and if I weren’t packed like a mule with all my hand luggage, shopping bags and magazines I’d throw myself down on the ground, kissing European earth! Welcome home, MJ!