Heathrow Flight Desk Man

There are many reasons I retain my hermit status, the main one being, when I leave my monastery for a humble adventure, the most crazed things seem to occur. Or perhaps they appear crazed because I am not fully used to public adulation.  I’m joshing you (how urban of me).

He spotted me from a half mile as I entered those wide ribboned barriers, Please come this way Madam, when I finally reached the counter I said Thank-you and smiled.

How are you?

Tired. And yourself?

I cannot recall his response as he started speaking of luggage.  No, I only wish to take hand luggage please, I’ve nothing to check-in.

Please place the hand luggage on the scales, I will need to weigh the bags.

So I hauled my gigantic mock vintage floral British flag tan weekend bag on to the black belt. That’s fine, looking at me intently, Economy or business-class?

Economy of course, wondering if I looked as though I should belong in the upper echelons of society, oh wait, that died out with Concorde…no wait again, it was replaced by private jets and helicopters…

Is Poland your final destination?

No, no, it is Belarus, it will be an interesting journey!

What do you do?

Project management of wireless approvals, not very exciting!  and then realised it must be slightly exciting if I am standing in Heathrow’s T1 teleportal.  I berate myself, I should be more grateful and I quickly ask fate for forgiveness. I was lost in this thought as Flight Desk Man was happy and so go lucky and smiling insanely and then, quite randomly, Are they your real eyes?

I think this is a South Asian thing however I am not sure, anyway, I answered Yes but it would seem my response is quite hesitant as he meekly responds Are you sure?

Well, they are ‘real’ as opposed to plastic ones that I have just picked up and popped in together with hand actions like I did actually pop them into my sockets this morning.  He chuckles.  Miss or Missiz?

Miss. Does it not state this on my passport already, obviously there is something wrong with me when I am still single at my age. I keep this thought to myself and I portray my usual bouncing off the walls self. He advises the gates open in an hour and a half, I groan. He is full of advice for such a heathenly time of the morning, Grab a coffee or smoke if you smoke?

I don’t smoke! and move away towards the departure gates.

I think you should stay with me and keep me company until your flight is ready to board he says quite loudly.

I will miss my flight that way, I laugh.

I will make sure you don’t!

I look over to the other flight desk person and he is grinning whilst eavesdropping the lines Flight Desk Man is trying to drop. Everyone is happy and smiles are flashed around like lightning, it seems to be a contagious disease.  A good disease though, as how often is everyone happy, at an airport?!

Have a great flight, Miss Aftab.

See you later!

I walk across to Pret A Manger and spot another young man staring into the side of my head whilst I am attempting to investigate the smoothies range.  And people wonder why I am paranoid.  However, it is too early for any more drama, it’s 04:30AM and I am zombying on two hours’ sleep. I walk out the shop without purchasing anything and wait for the gates to open.  Eighty minutes to go.  Try to keep sane.

Hint: when booking a flight even though the hour is ungodly, your reward is so much less hassle as crowds are non-existent and most beneficial of all, no queues.

ink is free, so...

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