So I found this post from 2011 randomly after equally randomly remembering that I had briefly tried out Tumblr about an eon ago and decided it didn't suit my tastes fairly quickly afterwards. I may decide to re-initiate it, maybe, possibly, since the whole posting-something-process seems to have improved. Who knows. whatever. Blargh!
Anyway, I had no recollection whatsoever of this incident and found it a rather hilarious read through so I am reposting it here, where it belongs, this blog being called "random ramblings". ;)
here it is:
19th December 2011 ~16:00 Basel Airport
so I wrote this yesterday, while Internetless, on my way back home to Vienna.
I’ve been flying back and forth between Vienna and Manchester for 3
years now. As there are no direct flights between these two cities I
always have connection flights and am usually on the road pretty much
the entire day. And although I am used to it now and most of the
journeys I have behind me went fairly smoothly, the amount of times I
was stressed out or panicky because some thing or other decided to poop
in my pie is rather outrageous.
I wouldn’t be so annoyed if I could blame most of the obstacles and
stress factors encountered in my city hopping on myself. But believe it
or not - most of the shit that happens to me is completely out of my
control. Which, frankly, annoys the fucking crap out of me.
Today for example, I became victim of an exquisite fuck up of the
rather unusual kind. Or at least I think it is unusual, as this has
never happened to me or my family before as far as I can remember…
Anyway, what happened unfurled as follows:
Being Jennifer Jill Andersen, I was a teensy bit outside the comfort
zone in my time schedule, because I had been too excited to be going
home the night before and hadn’t been able to fall asleep until around
the 6am mark. Nothing too tragic though, as the taxi driver made good
time and I arrived at Terminal 3 of the Manchester Airport 45
almost-comfortable minutes before my flight was scheduled to lift off
according to my itinerary printout. I walked in, hurrying, but not too
stressed yet. I still had time. Or so I thought.
The first thing that made me raise my eyebrows and continue the work
on the wrinkles-under-construction on my forehead was that a look onto
the monitors told me that my flight did not seem to exist. So I checked
my sheet again, because, being Jennifer Jill Andersen, it was entirely
possible that I had misread the information or simply looked at one of
the earlier itinerary info boxes by mistake and told the taxi driver the
wrong Terminal. But my paper said, just as I remembered it: “Swiss (LX)
- 4431 - 11:55 - MAN Terminal 3 - BSL”. I even checked the date
because, being Jennifer Jill Andersen, I did not think it impossible
that I might have gotten that one wrong. Nope, “19th December 2011”, all
in order.
Confused, I wobbled over to the nearest free counter that had
unoccupied (bored) looking personnel behind it, armed with my Starbucks
cup, Passport and itinerary printout. Putting on my best
“helpless-lost-little-girl-pleeeease-help-me” act, I asked the gentleman
what the fuck was up with my flight not being on the friggin monitors
and could he wipe that pathetic “I-hate-my-job” expression off his face,
it’s making me want to slap him. Obviously that’s not what I said, as
that would have been counterproductive to my lost-girl act, but it’s
what I thought.
Anyway his response was a question directed at his equally pathetic
looking colleagues 2 counters down: “Swiss? That’s in Terminal 1, isn’t
it?"
Upon the positive answer mumbled in response I was thus dispatched to
run (yes, "run” he said) towards Terminal 1. Cursing under my breath, I
made my way over to Terminal 1, which thankfully, was not quite as far
away as expected. Terminal 2 would have been a bitch.
There I did find a flight to Basel on the monitors, but the time was
slightly wrong - it said 11:30 which was approaching FAST so I didn’t
think twice or stopped any longer to check the flight number, but went
straight towards the designated check in counters which, of course, were
miles away on another floor.
Being Jennifer Jill Andersen under stress, I naturally queued at the
wrong counter. A forgivable mistake in this instance since the proper
ones were completely unoccupied, and a rather lucky one too in the end
because I caught one of the Airport minions attached to that particular
counter and asked for help, and was I even queuing in the right line,
and why did the monitor say 11:30, and why did my paper say Terminal 3,
and-, and- HELP PLEASE!
(btw voilà the reason why I never write journal entries: it’s 5pm now. it took me an HOUR to write the above -.-)
Minion #1 glanced at my sheet, looked confused and turned to minion
#2 who assumed an equally puzzled look and turned to minions #3 and #4
for further consulting which made me want to punch someone as it implied
something was obviously very wrong with my flight details.
As it turned out I was given not only the wrong Terminal and the
wrong time, but also the wrong flight number. How they found me in the
system at all was a bit of a puzzle to me, as “wrong flight number”, in
my ears, sounded like they booked me on another flight entirely but
thankfully inirport minions #1,2,3 and 4 proved much more capable than
expected, and especially minion #2 seemed to rather enjoy the challenge
and relief that this unexpected problem which needed quick solving
presented from his repetitive check-in chores.
He took me to a free swiss counter where minion #3 and minion #5
tried to get me on the 11:30 flight and were thankfully successful after
a few agonising minutes of waiting, spent praying to the Universe to
not let me miss that flight, pretty pleeease. He then escorted me to the
extra large baggage counter thingy where my bag was dispatched, as the
other counter had been closed and then further on to the security check
queue, where he had a quick word with his colleague minion guarding the
quick line entrance and sent me on my way: “hurry! Gate3!"
Hurry I did indeed, but not without many thank-you-so-so-much’s over
my shoulder and flashing him the best
"I-m-so-relieved-thank-you-you-re-great-at-your-job” smile I could
muster up under the circumstances.
The rest is a bit boring, I basically sprinted though to the security
check, panting like a mad-woman because I don’t have any stamina what
so ever. Being Jennifer Jill Andersen under extreme stress, I briefly
got lost in the confusing duty free labyrinth and was, upon my
unintentionally loud exclamation of “where the fuck am I supposed to
go?!”, saved by one of the duty free perfume shop slaves who looked me
up and down disapprovingly in all my panting, frenzied glory, murmured
“calm down” as if I was about to go mental (maybe I was?) and pointed me
in the right direction.
After that I reached my gate without further interruption where
another miserable soul was standing in front of two gate minions hoping
to be accepted into the plane. That one had apparently managed to pass
security with only his travel itinerary and no boarding pass. He related
that he usually used the web check in which apparently makes u end up
with a similar slip of paper instead of a boarding pass so he stupidly,
but innocently thought the itinerary print out would be enough. Just
goes to show how far one can get if you wave a piece of paper
convincingly and with just the right confidence/innocence ratio in
front of security personnel.
We both got on the plane.
So now I’m sitting in Basil airport boring my ass off and having
trouble staying awake. Not to mention already missing my boyfriend
fiercely. I will have to keep myself exceedingly busy these 3 weeks of
my Christmas holidays, or I am sure shall suffer from bad withdrawal
pains. XP
….
….
….
please time, pass quickerrrrrrrrr!! (it’s 18:34 - flight goes at 19:55) -.-
…
…
maybe I’ll watch a movie?
…
…
OMG I’M SO BORED I WISH I HAD INTERNET AAAHHH!
