Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Queuing for a Loving

I fucking hate queuing for anything. I can just about tolerate the queue in the canteen at work (yes, for we executives must mingle with the hoi polloi of the COs and senior managers). Queues make me tap my feet, roll my eyes and murmur expletives. My genteel and polite upbringing dictates, however, that I accept my place in the queue and await my turn.

I was in an airport check-in queue earlier. These generally move quickly unless they are Ryanair queues where some passengers are overweight (baggage, that is - how long before they start weighing US as well as our luggage). This queue moved nice and quickly and I didn't adopt any Tourette's symptoms while waiting.



Dear Christ, what the fuck was that?

And again:


Jesus! It's the Day of the Triffids! They're coming to get me!



I rotated my head gingerly (No, I'm not ginger. I was merely suggesting an exercise of caution in my movements). I expected to see part of the Scottish bog that tried to eat my foot earlier in the week waiting in line behind me to great me with a cheery "Hello again" as I turned around. Or maybe a giant alien plant with a pair of legs protruding from its mouth-like aperture.

No such luck.

Behind me was one of those fucking smug couples who can't stop kissing or feeling each other up in public. The noises I had been hearing were the result of their hoovering each other's faces with their mouths. Even the stupid fucking twat at work who can't eat with his mouth closed makes less noise.

Now there is nothing more natural than the expression of love between two people. Except, when you turn around, and they see that you've noticed them, they get worse. Plus, being bereft of male company with whose help I could retaliate with counter strikes of slurping, I had no option than to dig out my iPod and turn Cannibal Corpse up really, really loud (Song of choice? I Will Kill You, of course).

There should be a law against it. Or at least, some new travel protocol. I am going to write to Michael O'Leary to see if he would consider introducing another silly additional charge on this type of behaviour in airport queues. Well, he has the Priority Boarding Queue, what about the "Love-struck soppy couple" queue? Other airlines will then follow suit and the whole unpleasant business would be over and done with.

The Mile High club is another matter entirely, which I haven't given a great deal of thought to because I prefer to wee in the airport before boarding instead of wrestling with toilet roll, underwear and flimsy doors in an airborne loo. Let them have their fun. They might even get wedged in there together and give the rest of us some inflight entertainment.

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