A singularly bloody awful experience at Terminal 1 this afternoon.
Winner of the “face like a slapped arse award 2013” – the indifferent lady at the Aer Lingus check in desk who told me that I didn’t have any hold bag booked on my ticket.
When challenged over the phone by the ever-dependable by Phillippa (who did book me the right ticket), she just shook her head, looked at the screen, shrugged, charged £24 to my credit card and, disappointingly didn’t say “computer says no” but might as well have.
Nadya you need to consider a career in the prison service or a switch to immigration and passport control, you would flourish.
Next up the security check – wandering around as if mass redundancies had just been announced. Get a life people – you have a job.
Finally, irate passengers. The airport was half-empty but there were still people in security who had arrived late for their flights and considered it necessary to huff, puff and blither on about their misfortune to everyone in earshot.
Clever little me arrived plenty early, didn’t much mind being spot checked and swabbed and still had time for a gingerbread soya latte, salad and a few phone calls before my flight.
I write this at 35,000 feet, enjoying a spectacular sunset from seat 6A.
There seems to be so much anger in the world.
I’m on a mission to avoid and ignore it.