Oh my god! I have been so so busy since starting this new job in Grand Cayman, that I have not even had time to spend at leisure on my dear blog! What's happening to me?! Am I finally appreciating the exhaustive quality of a hard day's grind?! Anyway ... here's something I wrote in the airport during my trip here, and the rest - well, you'll just have to bear with me I'm afraid, I'm not used to a full days work in the sun; it's killing me! (not complaining though *wink*)
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Another month, another airport...
I hate airports, don’t you? They reinforce the Great British tradition of queuing. People become ants, in serpentine and sluggish lines, stretching out into the distance. Somewhere out there is the check-in desk; the front of the line; the holy grail of Gatwick.
Finally I see the end; I’m almost there – it’s reaching distance.
“You’re in the wrong queue, your bags haven’t been pre-weighed,” says a smug agent with a mouth like a prune, “go to that queue first,” she points, “and then you may join this one again.” My heart sinks, and I turn to stare at the daunting prospect snaking out behind me.
I check my watch. “Will I have time to queue there, then return here, then queue for passport control? My flight is in 2 hours.”
Prune-mouth sighs, “Go to the other queue, I can’t help you here until your bags are approved.” Which roughly translates as ‘I’m not interested and I don’t care. Now piss off and let me get on with my crap job - which by-the-way I hate’
By now she has already dismissed me, and turns to give her welcoming scowl to the next group of passengers.
Thirty minutes later I smile desperately at the official who calls me over. He stands next to an ominous looking weighing scale and a hand-baggage sizing test. Oh shit, I think. I have 2 pieces of hand luggage, 1 extra bag of dive gear and 2 suitcases, which are slightly overweight. My heart is pounding in my ears. The man surveys my trolley. Before he has a chance to make a negative judgement, I stammer, quickly, “Err, hi! I’m traveling to the Cayman Islands today – to live, not for a holiday, a job – you see – I’m alone, and,” I gesticulate wildly towards my dive gear, “I’m an instructor – a diving instructor, but my job, actually, err…” I pat my camera bag, “ it’s photography, underwater…” I give him my best cheshire cat grin and pray.
He smiles. “Alright for some, isn’t it!” Oh sweet relief. “Let’s get these cases weighed. If you’d just like to pop open your dive bag for me so I can check it’s all sports equipment we’ll be able to let you take that for free.”
I find out that his name is Daniel and thank him profusely when he lets me off a charge for my slightly overweight cases too. “You’re my airport guardian angel,” I say, wondering if it would be too weird to hug him. He blushes and looks pleased.
Later, when I finally get near prune-mouth again, I see Daniel approaching. He winks at me, and I see him whispering while pointing towards me. I catch a couple of words here and there, “ …moving….dive instructor…no charge…” The woman sees me and gives a curt nod to Daniel. As he walks off, he looks back, so I wave and blow a kiss.
I feel slightly smug - all this chaos around and yet my journey seems to be going so smoothly...
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I did not feel quite so smooth 9 hours and 45 minutes later, after a 6 hour delay and a stressful boarding experience onto a full plane bound (finally) for Kinston, Jamaica. I was sitting way in the back, surrounded by noisy Jamaicans on every side; the air conditioning seemed to be broken, the shrieking and the gabbling of voices had reached fever point, and the last time I ate or slept seemed so, so long ago. Well - next thing I know, my head feels prickly and everything seems very hot and bright suddenly. There's a pressure in my chest like something verging on panic or perhaps it's simply pure-body-shutdown and I can no longer feel my hands. I think - Oh no. Oh no. This is wrong - and I fear that, suddenly I will flap or scream or vomit or faint, or all of the above. I stand up to go to the bathroom, just 3 or 4 rows behind (yes I really am at the back of the plane), and then everything goes dark. The last thing I see is the bathroom door like a tiny pin prick of light at the end of a long tunnel.
I come around to noise, before my sight returns. I hear loud voices and they seem close - all arguing and jabbering. "...she fainted..." "...yeh she stands up and she fell..." "...she say some ting but I canna hear man.."
I drift. I feel sick, and the back of my neck feels like its on fire. I think "please don't throw up Lisa, please don't embarrass yourself....hold on to it, come on..." Someone touches me and tries to make me talk. I wave them away, weakly, like a bug. Don't they understand? I just need to be left, alone, please, so I can breathe, so I can try not to throw up...I try to talk, but I can't.
Soon I hear an English voice, a woman, and I feel a cool hand on my face. She is telling the people to sit down, to give me space. I want to agree with her but I still feel too sick to speak. I open my eyes finally, and there she is - a young blonde flight attendant, smiling gently as I try to focus.
"Don't worry," she says, "we're getting you some oxygen, that will make you feel better." I try to smile, but I think its more of a grimace.
The oxygen comes and I breath the dry cold air. My head begins to clear like a frosty morning, and I get pins and needles fizzing in my hands and feet.
"Her colour is coming back," says a man's voice.
"Yes, let's get her towards the front of the plane though - it's cooler there." says another woman.
I feel relief - the idea of a cool dark place to stretch out right now is like heaven.
Stumbling slightly, I shuffle through ecomony and enter premium economy. I expect to stop here, but they keep on going, and suddenly I find myself in a cool dimly-lit space that I recognise as business or first class.
I stifle a giggle, which is sucked away into the oxygen mask. I look on the bright side as I make myself comfortable on my fully reclinable seat. Another trans-atlantic flight - another free upgrade.
Back of the net.
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