Flying to Cork

I left work a little early on Wednesday and popped to my local souvenir shop to buy presents for my family with faces of various members of the Royal Family on them. I love tourist tat so much. Stick a Union Jack or a photo of William and Kate on something and I’ll buy it in a shot. 

I got a Ryanair flight from Stansted to Cork. The woman next to me on the flight ordered the most Cork meal possible. She asked for “tea with extra milk and green Pringles.” My people ❤ ❤ ❤

Do you remember when air travel was glamorous and flight attendants were all manicured and well-turned out young women? Then they started letting men do it too, but it was restricted to tanned homosexual bottoms with experience of gymnastics and musical theatre. Now anyone can be a flight attendant. Literally anyone. 

Do you remember the boy from your class in secondary school who wore glasses that never stayed up and were always halfway down his nose? The boy who always had a stain from yoghurt or possibly toothpaste down the front of his school uniform jumper? The boy who had patches of acne rotating around his face and one greasy lock of hair sticking up from his slightly too long hair? The boy who always smelled a bit of sweat and cornflakes? That boy is now a Ryanair flight attendant. 

One such attendant was working on our flight. There was a middle-aged French couple sitting in front of me. They didn’t speak a word of English. They were next to the overwing exits and the gormless pimply young flight attendant came to explain the extra safety procedures that people next to exits get. One of the Irish passengers asked the flight attendant if he could also explain this in French. The flight attendant answered “Nah boy. Shur all I know is merci beaucoup and croissant!”

The flight attendant was back two minutes later. People in the exit rows are not allowed to keep their bags and coats with them and have to stow them. The flight attendant could not successfully explain this to the French passengers. After some argument, he grabbed the woman’s beautiful overcoat and scarf. Then this flight attendant, whose shirt wasn’t tucked in properly and whose breath smelled of cheese and onion crisps, balled up the French lady’s coat and scarf and now that he had crumpled it, shoved them in between two suitcases in the overhead lockers. The scarf was still hanging down, so he shoved the coat harder and stuffed the scarf down with vehemence to ensure that it will never again be unwrinkled. 

The French woman was mute with horror. 

Vive la différence! 

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