Fight or flight instincts are a well ingrained human trait and have probably served our species well during our time on this planet. Queuing at the baggage drop for Ryanair in a corner of Madrid’s Barajas airport is a stern test of this instinct. To hedge my bets on the flight rather than fight part and counter any travel related anxiety, my strategy of late has been to adopt the manners of the saintly and sail close to the obsequious. This makes the switch to anger a far greater one than from my normal edgy travelling self and provides me with enough pause to wind in any FFS reflex.
Ryanair’s baggage drop section at Barajas is probably separate from the rest of the check in desks for good reason. Although equipped with the standard retractable belt barriers for queuing, it is hard to see where a line begins and this leads to much confusion. Tempers are short among passengers who are wrongly directed to a priority queue and have to start afresh at a standard one as if in some game of airport snakes and ladders. An American woman takes exception to this and refuses to budge. It clearly says priority on her ticket she remonstrates with the check in girl. Not this type of priority responds the girl blandly hinting that it’s not her first rodeo. I momentarily feel a twinge of sympathy for the Ryanair staff as the American continues crying foul. Before long the real Priority Plus passengers behind her move forward and begin placing their luggage on the belt rendering her one woman protest a fading sideshow as they check in around her. I lose interest and join another queue. It’s Ryanair; no one matters really whatever your boarding card.
The guy in front of me looks like Manchester United midfielder Juan Mata. I know he has a name for his charitable work https://www.common-goal.org/ and as one of very few all round good guys in football, but flying Ryanair is taking the humble thing to new heights. I resist asking as I’m not twelve years old and even if it is him, he’s on his holidays. The queue inches forward and as I drop off my case I see his baggage tag; Mata/Juan. Damn, I should’ve spoken to him and got a selfie or something screams my inner 12 year old. Too late, he’s gone and I tell the kid to pipe down.
The security check goes smoothly enough but makes me feel a bit terroristy as severe faces watch me pass through the metal detector. With time to spare I make my way through passport control and on towards the gate. I get to B29 but the screen still displays a flight to Cluj. The queue is fairly orderly even without barriers but suddenly breaks up as our flight appears on the screen. A priority boarding queue takes shape as non-priority passengers mill around unsure what to do. I see Juan Mata again; he’s on my flight and has priority boarding. It’s not much of a benefit really when half the passengers have it, though it does make the rest of us feel a bit like stowage. The difference in boarding time is barely five minutes and worth the few Euros saving I guess. Juan has booked himself a front seat with legroom but there’s no reason he should sit cross legged on the floor to placate misanthropes.
I take my seat between two others. The lady on my right is off to stay with her daughter in London for a couple of weeks she tells someone on the phone before nervously Whatsapping with said daughter. Bored, I glance at her phone. I’m on the plain. I’m into the plain. I’m in the plain. Each is followed by a winking, tongue protruding emoji and question mark. I hope they’re close and resist pointing out that the preposition is only part of the problem.
Twenty two minutes behind schedule we rev up and move back a few meters before hanging around for a further five. Trundling on a seemingly endless tour of the airport feels like a new cost cutting method of getting to London. Fifteen minutes of airport scenery and we stop at the lights, turn, rev up again and lurch forward. The bumpiness of the runway gives way to a smooth lift off and a push on the belly as we heave upwards leaving Madrid shrinking below.
The A/C feels like the door hasn’t closed properly and the woman to my right retrieves an item of clothing to cover her legs. She says something in Spanish which I don’t catch but goes on to over-explain in poor though enthusiastic English that waking her is no problem should I need the toilet. I’m touched she cares, thank her and smile before she covers her eyes and powers down for the rest of the flight.
Once aloft the food trolley begins its journey from the front putting the toilet there out of bounds to anyone it hasn’t passed. I shake my head at the offer of refreshment, mouth filled with a homemade roll like a prepper facing Ryanair themed end times. The girl to my left removes the plastic wrapper from an energy bar like a sea-life serial killer. Such wanton environmental vandalism I tut to myself as I exempt my water bottle from the equation. I should cut her some slack; she is at least a Ryanair prepper like me.
The grand tour of my mind is eventually interrupted by the pilot informing us we’re landing in ten minutes prompting two neck cushion wearing people in front to sit up. Their cushions resemble life vests; optimistic over water, never mind land. The pilot sounds a bit foreign and may be on a different route this time next year as the UK ploughs on in search of some yesteryear inspired Brexit. If they don’t sort out a clear destination soon, getting there will throw up a whole new set of navigational problems. We land and I’m pleased the applause for doing so has been consigned to history; I’ve always counted landing safely as part of the deal.
Baggage reclaim brings me back into contact with Juan Mata. Is he stalking me? Now he’s obligingly having his photo taken with anyone who asks. My inner 12 year old reawakens and demands satisfaction so I hammer out a quick compromise; an autograph for the Man United-crazy son of a cousin is as far as I’ll go.
– Name? Asks Juan.
-Adam, I say.
He clips the top of my exposed finger with the pen. The kid mentions never washing it again or perhaps tattooing the mark but I tell him to go back to sleep as I head for the exit.
You are a crack! Always finding something great to write
See you tomorow!!