I arrived at the international airport on Friday morning with high hopes (that I had actually packed the right things in my suitcase). My husband and I checked in, went through customs, and then proceeded directly to the bookshop to check on the placement of my book (which, to be honest, was really the purpose of my trip – after all, you can’t visit the international airport bookshop without a boarding pass).
The book was placed appropriately and I took the opportunity to tell the salesman how utterly fantastic it was and that he should recommend it to all his customers. He seemed both unconvinced and unimpressed (his exact words being ‘Well, whatever rocks your boat) but I felt secure in the knowledge that he would not recognize me as the author, given that my makeup-free, eye-bag ridden* face bore no resemblance whatsoever to the glowing, heavily made-up woman on the cover.
After an hour delay (during which I didn’t pace or worry the plane was never going to take off) we entered the aircraft and took our seats. I immediately began investigating the on-board entertainment system, which was comprehensive indeed. I watched several episodes of ‘How I Met Your Mother’ before I began to experience difficulties. You see, the high-quality headphones were simply too small for my gigantic ears, and my ear-flaps were aching where they had to be folded back to fit.
Yes, like severely obese people who require two seats on a plane to accommodate their girth, I require special, giant-sized headphones to accommodate my ears. And the airline did not supply them. A clear example of discrimination.
In despair, I decided just to have a glass of wine and a sleeping pill and go to sleep (despite it being only 1pm Australian time). I ordered some red wine with my lunch and drank it all in a big gulp. Unfortunately, though I ordered red wine with my lunch, it actually arrived before my lunch, and I drank it on an empty stomach. With a sleeping pill. So by the time my lunch arrived, I had pretty much lost control of my limbs, and knocked the empty glass on the floor, shattering it into a thousand pieces. As the flight attendant picked it off the floor, I tried to offer to help, before realizing I couldn’t really speak properly, and focused on carefully eating my lamb-something-messy before lying comatose in my seat.
I awoke two hours later feeling remarkably refreshed and rejuvenated. At least, that’s what I thought, until I got up to go to the toilet and found I had troubles walking down the aisle. When I returned to my seat I asked my husband ‘What is time now confused?’, thought ‘That doesn’t sound right,’ then explained ‘I don’t think had enough tired still sleep’.
I lay down again for ten minutes, then suddenly felt much better. Except it turns out it wasn’t ten minutes at all. It was two and a half hours, and the trip was nearly over.
If you call ‘six hours of flying time left’ nearly over. Which I didn’t.
And I longingly eyed the sleeping pills…