JEREMY CORBETT
Flying is amazing. As one of the growing number of planet-bound humans lucky enough to experience high-speed travel at altitudes such as 30,000 feet and outside temperatures of -50oC, I’d like to register my gratitude. Could our ancestors even have dreamed of this?
In their wildest fantasies, they may have imagined a person with makeshift wings attached managing to float small distances on the odd updraft. Perhaps a hang-glider would have been at the far reaches of their vision.
Tonnes of steel with on-board catering, fully functioning flush toilets and free boiled lollies would surely have blown their minds. If they could see us now they would think we were living in some sort of technological utopia. They’d be insanely jealous.
Until they found out about passengers. Ugh.
They’ve ruined everything, haven’t they? Air travel would be perfect if it wasn’t for people using it.
I guess I’m amongst the lucky ones. The fear of ending up next to some old, overweight, smelly dude is lessened because I reason it would be unlikely for two of us to be seated together.
The categories of invasive species encountered in-flight is increasing every day. We’ve now progressed beyond seat-leaners, foot-pickers and dribble-on-your-shoulder sleepers.
It was one of these new varieties I experienced recently on a flight with the team from 7 Days. I was seated next to our producer, Jon: He’s thin, well-groomed and fragrant, if somewhat chatty for my liking.
The person next to him was a lovely woman with the perfect amount of pretake-off banter. I settled in, believing I had ideal travelling companions.
More fool me.
FOR JEREMY, A FAUX PAS RUINED PLEASANTRIES ON A RECENT FLIGHT
When we reached sufficient altitude for the plane to go ‘bing’ I hauled out my laptop, opened it up and began hammering my musings onto its hard drive.
Seconds elapsed before the pleasant woman leaned over and offered me a cloth.
Me! A cloth!
She motioned at me to clean the screen of my computer. I’ve not been screen-shamed before.
It hit hard.
Jon, the traitor, raised his eyebrows in agreement with pleasant woman, acknowledging my dust-covered display was indeed in need of some attention.
I blushed. I felt the whole plane was looking at my filthy monitor, judging me. As I scoured away I half expected an announcement from the pilot adding his disdain.
The rest of the flight I sat quietly chastened.
I should not have. She was merely helping me. I should have been pleased I could now clearly see the letters and colours on my screen.
But somehow I still cannot forgive. What other boundaries does she cross? Is she now sitting next to some poor man with faint body odour offering him deodorant while gesturing for him to roll some under his arms? Foot powder for smelly foot guy? Clean underwear?
No. She transgressed and has so traumatised me I have decided I can no longer fly for fear of a repeat.
It’s that or clean my laptop.