I love irony – just not when it happens to me. In order to reach the airport on time, I thought it would make great style to take the magnetic train. It reaches speeds of 400 km/h and supposedly gets to the airport in just eight minutes. Only problem, it doesn’t even leave from anywhere near the city-centre. In order to get on this behemoth take the subway for half and hour and get off the line going towards the airport - makes sense, right? Transfer, security check, half hour wait for the damn thing to start and you’re off.
Outcome; I get to the ticket desk one hour to takeoff. Desk lady says “we’re no longer accepting passengers, luggage has already been taken”. One fucking hour. I say, “I’ve got legs, a back and can carry my own luggage, give me the damn ticket.” Off I go. Customs – some Romanians and Chinese wielding the English language with the preciseness of a drunken newfie stall the line. My bag arrives and gets raped of anything remotely containing water. I rage telling the security guys that “I’m going to kill someone if this keeps up,” they don’t understand a word and keep on digging new things out. Twenty minutes till takeoff I run fully loaded to the end of the terminal.
Check in and find my luggage is ending up with everyone else’s. Sweat-drenched, red-faced and huffing I sit down just before the plane takes off, next to a hawk-nosed women, missing her broom, quaffing glass after glass of cheap Chinese wine. Flight made.
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