Manspreading, meanwhile, is rife – both in terms of seating (keep those knees to yourself) and also in the overhead lockers. There’s a way of placing your bag that maximises the space it takes, rather than making more space for others. What exactly are you trying to achieve? A more comfortable trip for your bag?
I’m sympathetic, of course, to children being aboard the plane. We can’t expect them to row across the Pacific or bicycle through Asia, all because their family wish them to visit Europe. A little crying should bring a sympathetic response. The only real complaint is the child who constantly kicks the back of my seat for 24 hours as if training for a soccer team. Unless the child has a guaranteed future with the Socceroos, I’m not that interested.
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Conversation is welcome, but only in limited bursts. It’s pleasant to know you are visiting Germany to attend your nephew’s wedding in Hamburg, but a 23-hour account of your family history, and that of the bride, may be too much. If I have a book in my hand, it indicates I wish to read it.
Once we’ve arrived, could everyone not jump immediately to their feet, heads bent under bulkheads, luggage raining down from above, backpacks being spun through the air like swinging scimitars, while bums are pressed into the faces of those few who remain seated?
By forming a rugby scrum the best you can do is exit the plane 10 seconds earlier than you would have achieved while remaining seated. And you’ll still have to wait for your bag.
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Which brings us to the baggage carousel. It’s like the mosh pit at a Bon Jovi concert. People are shoulder-to-shoulder, five deep. Bags that have already been retrieved are added to the fortifications. At the rear of the crowd the less assertive stand on tiptoes, hoping to chance a sighting of their bag.
Why can’t everyone stand a few metres back and then dart in once their bag rolls into view? I assume they are overly eager to retrieve their shoes, their feet grown cold throughout the flight.
And so they stand, pulling off one, then two, then three giant suitcases from the baggage carousel. Each bag is the size of a washing machine. I want to know what’s in those bags. Do you need 20 pairs of underpants for a 10-day trip overseas? I mean, how many bums do you have?
Another thing: the Germans have bums, too. So do the Mexicans. They even have bums in Wagga Wagga. So, whatever your destination, there’s a solution should you run short.
What else is in those massive suitcases? Have they taken their own fold-up ironing board? A jet ski, broken down into component parts? Were they saving on tickets by putting Grandpa into one of the bags? I’m sure I heard some moaning from one of the bags.
Then it’s the taxi queue (more bad behaviour); then meeting the taxi driver (grumpy because any destination short of Newcastle is a disappointment); then, finally, you are home.
Ready to start dreaming of another chance to fly, fly away.
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