The Lonely Traveler - Departure

Standing at the entrance to the private driveway, the doubt as to whether the taxi will arrive or not takes up it usual place of residence in my mind.  Booking a taxi to arrive at 04:30 is, despite assurances, a risk.  The chain of events from getting to bed after midnight, setting, checking and re-checking the alarm time of 04.00, waking up during the night and having the same old being late dream, it all contains elements of risk and mitigation.  This chain of events led to the flight departure from Manchester airport en route home to Belgium.  Until my bum was placed firmly in the seat at the rear of the aircraft, it is almost always the rear, I would not be content and even then the onward trip from Brussels to Aarschot would then be reviewed, checked and monitored in line with the connecting times of the various modes of transport at my disposal.  But back at the drive...

Although I would regard myself as a seasoned traveler, this is not to say that I am a globe trotting, jet setting, free spirit.  No, it is functional, a factor of work and living.  In my case I work in Knutsford in the UK and I live in Belgium and it is economically viable if somewhat complex from a tax residency position and convenience.  As an ex-serviceman I am accustomed to roving the land and temporarily laying down my hat, living at arms length for what can be regarded as my permanent home.  I will tire of it eventually, I will reflect and regret how little time I spend with my family and friends, but for now it is an economic necessity.  In terms of convenience and expense, it is a matter of what you are used to or what you come to expect.

...The taxi pulled in to collect me, pretty much on time, the chain remained unbroken.  As I sit there chatting to the taxi driver, in this case about his interest in UFOs, my mind is firmly fixed on the cost agreed and route being taken.  The contract, it can be argued, was formed when I booked the cab, but I distrust taxi drivers the world over, regardless of any evidence for or against.  I am deposited at the entrance to Terminal 3, having paid the agreed fare.  I am tired and irritable, but it is not particularly evident for the time being.  It does not take much to escalate my impatience to DEFCON 1, even though this is only in my mind, the look on my face delivers the message, more often than not.

My first hurdle is passing through the security check, the entrance to which is a choice of two options for mere mortals like I, I have never used the VIP lane.  Invariably I choose the wrong one and end up snaking back and forth through the empty corralling area, like a skier doing a frustratingly inefficient slalom down an empty mountain, dragging my battered but erratic case behind me.  I go to DEFCON 4 when I see those, who have chosen wisely, speed happily by as though I am out on a Sunday drive.

As I approach, and in reality well before getting to the airport, I have already considered the passage through the x-ray screening.  I am practically down to my underpants as I get to the conveyor, which is more than can be said for the annoyingly chippy holidaymakers who have left it until the last possible moment to fart around with their toiletries and other accouterments.  I move to DEFCON 3.  Due to the understandable desire to deter or intercept those wishing to do us harm, we now have to take all electrical items larger than 20cm out of the baggage and have them x-rayed separately.  This is a challenge to prepare for in advance, unless you are blessed with more than one pair of hands.  There is always the risk that I drop one or more of my delicate electrical items as I answer the usual questions about liquids, deodorants and other toiletries.  As usual I answered all of these questions with a firm and restrained no, which on this occasion drew a rude comment from a fellow chimpanzee about not wishing to share a seat next to me, the feeling was mutual and to all intents and purposes most unlikely.  My DEFCON state remained at level 3, but not for long.

Passing through the body scanner I noted that my case had been diverted for some further inspection.  I queued with the other specially selected travelers.  Time was pressing as it was unusually busy, I waited as patiently as I could, given my sleep deprived state.  When it came to my case the searcher discovered that I had packed a tool into my bag, which was not allowed.  I faced a choice, to present a well structured and considered justification would serve as much purpose as Charles I trying to debate the finer points of constitutional law with his executioner, so I had to revert to the obvious two: check the luggage in (and pay a punitive fee for doing so) or bin the tool and buy another one.  I did not realise this at the time, but the reason was that it could, quite rightly, be considered a blunt instrument, much like the TV camera that the gentlemen before me had re-packed and taken with him or indeed my rather heavy laptop.  Maybe even a bottle of whiskey from the duty free could be used?  All of these thoughts entered my mind as I uttered the words agreeing to check in the luggage and registering my protest at having to endure the very long queue to get back through security.  He assured me that I could leave and re-enter via the special assistance lane, which was quiet at that particular point in time.

I was now concerned that my fragile chain of activities was at increased risk due to the proximity of the departure time.  It was only when I got to the Brussels Airlines check in desk that I went straight from DEFCON 3 to 1.  I lost my rag as the desk clerk pointed out my transgression and the fact that I had not paid for checked luggage, all of which wasted time and was unnecessary, as I rudely pointed out. To add insult to injury, I could not pay at the check in desk and was re-directed to pay at another desk before returning with the receipt to check in my bag.  To say that this caused me a degree of frustration and resentment understates my incandescent anger at the situation.  It has to be acknowledged  that this was in fact a problem of my own making.  By the time I returned the check in desk I had reflected long enough to offer my apology to the clerk.

The special assistance lane, by the time I arrived back, had a long queue of passengers requiring special assistance and I was almost blocked from re-entering.  People requiring special assistance by definition take a long time.  I patiently waited, watching for the mildest irritation, as the people were screened through.  I was now watching the time and despite all of the delays, I made it to the departure gate before the flight had started boarding.

Arriving in time and without baggage, my usual assessment of the number of passengers and the amount of their hand luggage was unnecessary.  As I would not be fighting for space in the overhead lockers I could relax and get ready to board the aircraft.  This flight, like 7 others of the ten that I have taken, would experience a delayed departure.  The only saving grace is that now I was in the hands of the airline and had little influence on timing and events until I got to my destination.

 I did intend to work from home so any delay at this end added to the delay after arrival and then impacted on my start time.  There was not much flexibility