Everything was going so well!
The train had been on time, the taxi and the traffic fine and the check in at the airport smooth and efficient.
Then I arrived at security.
‘She who must be obeyed’ always says that I have a singular talent for choosing the most slow-moving line.
That was true this time, that’s for sure.
It inched along, going back and forth around those tapes which herd the pack along until you start to nod at the same people as you see them each time you pass one another.
As I was trundling my two carry-ons along, a couple brazenly unhooked the tape thing and came into the line, just in front of the lady in front of me.
I bristled and made a sort of ‘whoosh’ sound and was about to make a sarcastic comment when the lady in front went ballistic!
It was all in Portuguese, but the language was of secondary importance.
The venom and vitriol in her voice said everything. Spittle flew and a foot was stamped.
The offending couple were made to feel seriously bad, I thought.
But, and here’s the thing: They didn’t react. They simply stood, stoic, unmoving and steadfast, as if they had every right to have jumped the queue.
What a way to start your journey; they were vilified by one and all but simply carried on regardless.
Then an elderly man fainted!
Water was administered and he was ushered through quickly, ahead of everyone else.
He seemed to make a remarkably quick recovery, mind you, and scuttled off. What a drama!
I finally managed to navigate my way through duty free, which is becoming more sinuous and difficult to get out of, like IKEA, each time I go through it.
Finally, onto the plane, where I nodded at the elegant Chinese lady who was in the seat next to me.
Shortly after take-off, I settled down and ordered a glass of cool white wine, to soothe my slightly frayed nerves.
Then I drifted off.
The next thing I remembered was as I was jerked awake as the steward touched my arm.
I snorted and flailed my arms around, as if shooing away a fly. My left hand scattered a small tray of nuts, which had been thoughtfully situated on a little drop-down flap near my left hand and, of course, the glass of cool white wine.
It managed to splash the Chinese lady’s lap, which was, by this time, fortunately covered with a thin duvet, and then rolled around by her feet. She picked it up, eyed the drop or two of liquid remaining and gravely said to the steward that I would need another glass of wine.
Then she smiled and I apologised abjectly and repeatedly and asked if there was anything I could do.
The steward changed her duvet, replaced my nuts and wine and calm was restored.
It was almost as if the incident had never taken place; then she stood up to stretch her legs and a small crunching sound was evident.
I cringed and apologised again.
What a journey!
Mike Gaunt is a former headmaster at St Christopher’s School, Bahrain
– mikegaunt@gmail.com