I am the nicest passenger on board. Picture the scene...I'm not the ex UN worker who asks for tea when it's not on offer or refuses to move for the couple with the baby who want to sit together. I'm not the couple with the baby who want to sit together and spend the first forty five minutes after they embark trying to change their seats. Despite being as together as they can in row 14 and 15. Why do they need to be any closer? Sit down and stop being so pinched and anxious looking.
So there I am being as pleasant and polite as I can. Please, thank you, no thanks, here's my rubbish...all that. Couldn't be nicer or less demanding if I tried. But maybe next time I'll try the opposite. Can I have a blanket...another pillow...more tea...another gin and tonic. Because the former behaviour only gets me the distinct feeling that the trolley dollies are sneering at me. What for? I'm trying to make their job as undemanding as possible under the circumstances. But no, I watch closely and it seems the more demanding you are, the bigger their smiles and the more pleasant their manner. Frigging bending over backwards for these awkward bastards. All I get for being nice is a patronising sneer. There's something backward about the trolley dolly behaviour, that's for sure. Maybe they get their revenge behind those stupid curtains when they spit in drinks. Who knows.
For now though, they are forgotten and I'm in San Francisco and it's hot. Maybe I'll try out some new awkward behaviour on the flight home. Maybe Animal Disco will have the answer. After all, she's not busy blogging....oops, was that a bait?
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More of a bait than you realise, love. I spent a great deal of time during the summer of 2001 applying, reapplying and finally beginning training for Trolley Dolly status with Virgin Atlantic. My biggest training session was due to take place on September 12th. You do the math, as they say in ... where you are! How exciting! I'm not doing much blogging because I'm SOOO JEALOUS! So, you've pulled off the ultimate bait.
Have an ace, ace time (not that you need me to tell you that). But are you really happy knowing that your kids have turned into latchkey children, living on crisps and lemonade on the doorstep of a hovel?
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