Wednesday, July 6, 2011

On Business Class Travelers...

Nope. Not this time. Mia and I were not granted the privilege of travelling Business Class on our flight to Beirut, apparently the plane was full and there was no way anyone could accommodate us no matter how hard hubby tried. 

And yet, I had to endure some major Business Class pain from a couple of über aristocrats from Lebanon's superior society. In other words, two douchebags. I like the Urban Dictionary's definition, which I find quite accurate:
Someone who has surpassed the levels of jerk and asshole, however not yet reached fucker or motherfucker. Not to be confused with douche.
Source - Retrieved on July 5, 2011

So there I am, quiet, on my Bassinet Seat, with Mia drinking milk on my lap when a super skinny anorexic 40 something doll gets to our row. She takes one glance at Mia and rolls her eyes.

I take a deep breath and remember Hubby. He would have appreciated some sophisticated restraint on my part. So I restrained. We had justed boarded, it was way to soon for cat-fighting. 

A few minutes later, a royal jerk arrives with his little Bermuda shorts and navy suede Birkenstock sandals. His Fatuous-Highness sits his long, curly, squashed-with-an-entire-tube-of-gel, black and grey hair with a sigh, while whispering to Plasticoholic-Queen next to him "I wanted a Business Class seat but they couldn't find one so I settled for this seat but I would have never accepted had I known there would be a baby".

Yes, how surprising, a baby on a Bassinet Seat. That's quite unexpected.

"If the seats on the other side are empty, I'm moving there. I'm an only child, I'm not married and I can't stand kids".

I'm sure the feeling's mutual. And I'm sure it's not only kids.

Silicone-Forty-Barbie laughs hysterically like a 15 year old who's been hit on by the hunk of her class while hiding her plastic face in her pillow. I was genuinely worried parts of her face might stick to the pillow but thankfully, the glue held on well.

That was the masquerade I had to endure for three or so hours. Him making idiotic jokes. her laughing like a teen on crack.

The third passenger next to me was not Lebanese. He sat quietly and took out his laptop. A few minutes later, the head of cabin crew came to apologize to him, and only him, for not being able to accommodate him in Business Class. That is a clear indication that this man is a frequent flyer and that he usually flies on Business. Yet, he did not complain one bit. Not once. Not even when he received this apology.

The two clowns between us looked at each other a little hurt nobody apologized to them. Which was one of the few, genuinely funny moments on that flight. I smiled wholeheartedly. Truly.

So basically the four of us were looking for Business Class seats and would usually find them, and the four of us couldn't. So why the high disdain from some, I don't know. I can never know. Attitudes are really a big problem for me. I simply can't tolerate them.

Furthermore, everyone around us was so surprised at Mia and how quiet she was. When they placed the bassinet (to my neighbor's despair) she slept for an hour and a half only to wake up and drink some more milk while resting on my lap. Then we played a little, all quietly. The other passengers were so friendly, talking and playing with Mia, except for those two who kept staring like a regular Cruela on steroids. Literally staring and whispering and eye-rolling. I would have gladly poked those four evil eyes if I had someone to care for Mia while I was busy being all crazy and loud. But I didn't want to stress or scare her.

Seriously, I got like a zillion compliments from people telling me it was the first time they saw a baby fly so quietly. And distributing smiles to everyone! She played for 15 minutes with a little boy, sat on an older man's lap while he made funny faces for her, and constantly laughed and played with the hostesses.

And somehow, these two morons did not stop complaining. And making stupid jokes while Mia was drinking milk (hiding behind the pillow and laughing like children). Seriously? Making fun of a baby who's eating? That's how dumb you are? 

I swear I would have exploded all over their disgusting faces but I figured, there was not one empty seat on that plane, and there was no way we could be relocated so the most mature thing to do in order to maintain a relatively positive environment around Mia would be to keep my mouth shut. Which I did. Reluctantly.

I really wished Mia would have cried just a little bit only to ruin their flight, if not for 5 minutes. She did not. She was a perfect little angel. She has so much to learn!

However, nobody on that flight has anything left to learn about Silicone-Queen because she revealed all to King-Jack-Ass: she has five kids, one of them a boy and a year in between each girl. She works as a designer for a huge French Haute Couture label... In Sydney.... Errr. Right. If you say so.

Mr. Helpful promptly mentioned that this label is a client of his in Lebanon (he works in IT security) and he can provide her with reading material so Miss Fabulous can speak to them in their "own language" when he introduces her to the owners in Beirut. Needless to say so much name dropping took place in so very little time my head twirled.

Mr. Curious also inquired about her family name and even her mother's maiden name which happens to be "Jolie" (not sure about the spelling). "Like Angelina?" Lots of giggles and face-behind-pillow laughs. No not like Angie. But it appears Miss Friendly is half French, which would highly surprise me considering her pure Arabic accent when she uttered the only two French words we heard from her in three hours: "Trrrrrente-wouit" as she gave away her age. And because Mr. Ass is also very smart, he promptly calculated and told her she must have been like 16 when she got married. Again, lots of giggles and face-behind-pillow laughs. "I am 38. And today is my birthday". Giggles. "Really? You should tell them. You know they do something special on those occasions". 

OK, then. That's what I call smooth moves, right? Right? Right.

Honestly, I wouldn't have cared about all their crap had they been decent about Mia. 

Seriously, more than once, I was about to say "Listen, dude. Maybe you can't read English. Maybe you can only flirt, and really pathetically, in English. But you see that word "Bassinet" written on this wall where you're resting your disgusting feet? It means that the seat your lazy, fat ass is currently overheating, is called a Bassinet Seat. In airline talk, that means it is reserved for families and babies in particular. Not for fat ass-holes who want to rest their smelly feet on the wall. You're an only child, you're single and you don't like babies? Great. Do the rest of the world a favor and get a fucking private jet because this is the only way you'll avoid children. Last I checked, even in Business and First Class, kids are welcome. But unfortunately ass-holes such as yourself too".

But I refrained. Because I love hubby. And thinking of him, beating the crap out of that moron made me stronger. Because I know, had he been there, the conversation would have ended the second Child-Hater made his first comment upon boarding.

Also I didn't need the aggravation with Mia around. My first priority was for her to be as comfortable as possible in an already quite uncomfortable and strange set-up.

So I enjoyed the little masquerade being played for everyone close enough to enjoy the show:

After the introductions were made, it seemed only appropriate for fingers to start touching. Well, we are Mediterraneans, so yes, our hands are most of the times louder than our voices. But this time, it was more like a dull oops-I-did-not-mean-to-touch-but-I-will-not-keep-away-anyway kind of statement.

What happened next might have been Mia's fault. Indeed, after we installed the bassinet there was somehow less room for Bitchy-Bitch to rest her legs on the wall. Well actually, there was enough room but she insisted on having them high, high, high and sexy on the wall, and with the bassinet, the tiny (aha, tiny) 45 degrees angle wasn't enough anymore.

And that was the trigger.

The minute that bassinet "happened", she squeezed her-skinny-self close to Big-Ass as he wrapped his protective arm around her and held her tight under the blanket he had ordered. Because Forty-Doll took off her jacket the minute Forty-Sleazy sat next to her. He even helped her take off the sleeve on his side. Then, of course, she got cold because as all flyers know, in-flight temperature is usually quite low. Which is perfect for body heating. That is probably why, Jerkleman was rubbing her (perfectly covered under long pants) thigh: to warm her of course. How very chivalrous of him.

I personally don't care much for hook-ups, mostly because I am borderline OCD and freak out about germs, especially those living in a perfect stranger's saliva but I am not judgmental and I really don't care what people do with their sex lives. 

Except when those people are aggressive towards me or worse, my baby. 

Then, I reserve the right to knock myself out. So here I go.

Apparently, Old-Flirts didn't have the hygiene issues I suffer from because all of a sudden, they started kissing. Tongue and all. And by all, I mean cute noises too. That is when I honestly thought "OK, I am sure these two are actually together, but they were role playing. Some people like "adulterous games".

Well, once we landed, she stood up to unload her bags and he stayed comfortably seated until she told him sarcastically "No no, that's OK, you men just relax". He stood up to "help" only once all the bags were conveniently on the floor. She left on my side of the plane. About 5 minutes later, he stood up, unloaded his bags and left from the other side.

Passport control was so easy this time. The minute they saw me arrive holding a baby with one arm and pulling a suitcase in the other, with my huge purse hanging on my half broken elbow, they redirected me to an empty counter which usually takes care of foreign workers paperwork. They kindly asked me to sit on a chair and wait while they finished with our passports, which they politely brought back to me. 

I was welcomed with the same helpful spirit by one of the porters who promptly came and took away all my bags and asked me to sit and wait while he gets the suitcases for me. So I patiently waited by the customs and started talking to the "Nothing to Declare" guy. He was so nice and asked me to take his seat to rest a little since he saw Mia was becoming kind of heavy in my arms. 

That is when I saw Queen-Easy passing by. She almost choked when she saw where I was seated. She was alone. About 10 minutes later, it was King-Quicky's turn to pass by. They were definitely not a couple role playing. 

When I finally went out the airport building, I saw her again which made me so happy because it meant she had waited for at least 15 minutes before her ride arrived. 

And her ride was a young man, in his twenties or early thirties, grabbing her by the buttocks, his hands firmly shoved inside her pants' back pockets. He was literally lifting her by the arse! All the while, French-kissing like there was no tomorrow! From his looks, he didn't look old enough to be a father of five. So basically, just another hook-up while in town before heading back home to family-life-Sydney. I wish King-Jackass would have been there to witness that romantic moment: a kiss at the airport. How very Paris-Love of them. That's probably why she's a designer for a major Haute Couture Parisian label in Sydney and I'm just another mother with a baby and a bassinet. 

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