I missed the connection. Oh the horror. Next flight is boarding in five minutes. Missed the flight twenty minutes ago if you are wondering. I had a few hurdles to jump over, slightly difficult when jetlagged. The first passport control dude tried to chat me up, he was like fifty. And hefty. Like the wide way. He wanted a photo. He asked his female colleague to take a picture, I hope he didn’t mean the Taoi Cruz way. Joker. He looked Egyptian.
Well, these Arabic types are the worst aren’t they? Come on now, I’m just pointing out what you are thinking. Mental note: finish Tunisia writing. Why is an Egyptian working in Frankfurt? Are they not scared of terrorism? Ooh, careful, that’s a stereotype right there. Might get wrists slapped for that. Yeah, handcuffs are not comfortable, unless they are fluffy…
<jolting myself into reality> Egyptian dude finally let me through without the photo. Security was long too, why do I have to go through another check-in for my connecting flight. Waste of my time. Although, the nice pictorially friendly screen images giving instructions were quite handy (take laptop out of laptop bag, 100ml max liquids only, remove metal limbs…), the queues were horrible.
I think I might have arrived late from Minsk as well, there was only a forty-five-minute-or-so window between connecting flights, I don’t know. I’d given up on time by this point. I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. Also, if I’m honest, I was not too fussed. I knew I was pushing it, but I was busting for the ladies (WC not an actual lady or plural thereof, clean your mind, such filth…)
So I went to Gate B24 like it said on my boarding pass. Turns out boarding passes are not always correct. I ask the made-up lady Whagwan, she replied, The flight yeah the gate’s been changed yeah it’s now Gate B27 yeah just round the corner.
Safe, I say and bounce to B27 like a G. Star. It’s a bit quiet over here I think to myself, kinda filling with dread at the prospect of having missed the plane, something I have never done in the few excursions I have taken outside of my imagination.
I’m afraid the flight was closed five minutes ago, she says, and types away at her important little keyboard which is painting the fountain of knowledge. She prints me another boarding pass. Gate B22. I feel like I have relived parts of my twenties at each pitstop so far this morning, this night, whatever fragment of the day I am currently existing in. I do not feel so fly like a G6 and this should be the perfect place to feel such a thing, nearly.
It’s really cold. I feel quite not myself. Just want my bed now.
Announcement Tannoy Man said As flight is fully booked, passengers are requested to take only one piece of hand luggage, please check-in all other luggage. You what? I’m sorry. I don’t care. I’m still taking my TWO bits ta. Do they really think after being in the sky since forever with no sleep since two forevers I’m going to check in one piece of luggage? To wait at Baggage Reclaim at Heathenrow?
It must be the German sense of humour. No. In a word. En oh.
It’s 8:00AM now, no it’s not, my watch is fast. It’s 07:54AM. Business class has just finished at Passport Control. If I see another Passport Control Officer, I will cry. Oh God, I have the final check in London, but I guess that’s usually not too bad since it’s HOME.
I don’t understand, they already checked passports twice when issuing the boarding pass, why must I go through another check? Am I being stupid? I’m writing because I will go nuts concentrating on the dullness of another airport and another language and another pointless conversation.
I’m actually losing the will to live. I’m losing it. I’m still losing it. There. I’ve lost it. I have passed over to the other side. I really want my bed. I don’t even have the strength to remove my clothes or my make-up or my jewellery, I’m just going to collapse on the bed.
Bloody (as in bloody hell not actual massacred bodies) babies and small children alongside their respective grown-ups are being boarded first, I may just stab myself in the eye with the corner of the boarding pass. Is that why boarding passes have rounded edges, to prevent self-harm in these types of suicidal circumstances?
Ow. The stabby thing didn’t work. Senators and magic circle members allocated seats 36 to 25 can board. This is painful. I’m cold again. I’m confused. My brain has stopped working. I’m just waiting for everyone else to get on, and I will board last. They haven’t announced seats 14 to God-knows-what, why does it look like the entire plane is boarding?
Maybe I will be sitting at the front by myself. That will be a good thing. There is no way on this planet that this plane is leaving on-time. This has to be the most disorganised flight so far, the passengers are lost. Actually, so are Passport Control. A shepherd is required. Where’s a Prophet when you need one?
I’m sure she asked me random questions because she saw I had an Arabic name.
How are you?
Where have you come from?
Were you on business there?
No, I was making a bomb with your name on it. Why are you asking me stupid questions, the previous boarding pass is in your hand, can you just let me go to my home country. My home. England is my home. Why am I stuck in Germany? The delirium has commenced. That’s funny, I thought it had already started.
A Muslim family is now on the receiving-end of some grief, there’s two nikabis (mother and daughter) a father, and two small children under the age of five. I feel really bad for them having to remove the nikab so nakedly in front of everyone’s glaring eyes. Suicide crazies have made life just that little bit more awkward for the rest of us, even the non-practicing ones.
And then other passengers are looking at the nikabis as if they are aliens. For goodness’ sake, I want to shake them by their shoulders. They are a family, clearly and most plainly, mother, father and three kids unless their kids are android explosives.
They hardly look like terrorists to me. And they don’t have any hand luggage, good thinking in advance in an attempt to make the security checks easier. They are remaining calm, good for them. If it was me, I would be finding nonchalance really quite difficult with the state of mind currently overtaking my normal thought processes.
I think my painkillers have stopped working. Yes, that’s why I can feel the cold so horribly.
The reclining begins. Can people just not sit up straight?
The plane keeps bing-bonging but no voice hurts my ears. I need the loo again. I need my bed. I need to be warm. This is a disaster.