Boarding The Aircraft
I am welcomed by the ever smiling crew, regardless of the fatigued and frustrated figure that stands before them. They announced that premium paying passengers and those with special needs should proceed first, but as with any other queuing system in Belgium, it is every man for himself. Queues are for mugs, clearly. It is somewhat a turn of fate that the departure of the aircraft is held up because the airport services have not provided the required equipment to enable some wheelchair bound passengers to embark. The rest of us file onboard past the glorified bus drivers as they do their checks in the cockpit. One of the checks they seem to miss is that of their departure time and their watches being synchronized, but more of that flippancy later.
As I shuffle to the rear of the aircraft I engage in the lottery that is gambling on an overhead locker being available near my allocated seat. I mostly win, but then I often chicken out and take an early space some distance from my seat. I check my ticket again to make sure I know which row to go to. There is the choice of three seats, the one by the aisle, so you get banged and bashed by conveniently aligned backsides, the window with a view of the clouds and the middle seat. In order of priority I would take the window (and compromise my chances of escape), then I would take the aisle (enduring the arses) and finally I would lump it with the middle seat and spend the flight (because of my good manners) with my elbows on my lap. Sometimes I am lucky and have a seat free next to me.
Having settled in the crew give their safety brief, which some would argue, is a complete waste of time. I, on the other hand, am very attentive, despite having seen it so many times before
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