The Democracy of
Discomfort
What air travel does
for you, especially when you travel in the majority classes where affordability
trumps convenience and comfort, is select companions of interest as your
neighbours.
At times when means
provided the exclusive choice of turning left and the courtesy of being
addressed by name, a single window seat in a cabin configuration of 1x2x1, or
four abreast, offered isolation, comfort, and luxuriant full reclination in the
bargain of the deal.
Here, with ten
abreast in a 3x4x3 configuration, all senses are stressed in the accommodation
of noise, discomfort, and literal invisibility. However, even in this, one must
be thankful.
The Silence of
Economy
It is strange how
people keep to themselves here more than in the other place, where conversation
and networking suggest they are enjoying the flight. It must be in the
accoutrements of first calling at the lounge before boarding, and knowing that
comfort seems to eliminate self-absorption.
On my outbound
flight, it was a lady slamming her tray back that I had to remonstrate. Just
beyond belief. Whatever finishing school she attended did not bother to start,
as there was nothing there to groom.
Now, on my return
flight, a relative of the same has, by the good fortune of random seat
selection, ended up behind me.
The Rustling Rodent
The peculiar noise is
one of rustling, a wrapper perhaps of biscuits, but louder and incessant to the
point of utter distraction. Whatever it was, the fidgety so-and-so was a
nuisance. To top it up, she began eating, and each crunch of her mandibles was a
cacophonous clatter that made me imagine a rodent gnawing at some discarded
waste. If only I had a mousetrap to put an end to my misery.
Indeed, the
imponderable seating arrangement does juxtapose you with surprises in the most
polite assessment of things.
Brief Respite, Then
Resume
Once the food trolley
had laid out the food with wooden cutlery that delivered an osmotic extraction
of the remnant taste in aircraft food, the rustling stopped. The rodent, with a
bellyful of contentment and just the hum of the aircraft engines, signified
peace at last.
Halfway into our
12h20 flight, the rustling began again with the accompaniment reminiscent of
feeding time at the zoo. The munching of Capuchin monkeys picking at a snack
brought the sudden recall of 'The Vulture' by Hilaire Belloc that I could have
passed to the lady in smart calligraphy on card, a lesson to us all, changing
the pronouns for effect.
The Vulture eats
between her meals,
And that's the reason why
She very, very, rarely feels
As well as you and I.
Her eye is dull, her
head is bald,
Her neck is growing thinner.
Oh! what a lesson for us all
To only eat at dinner!
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