DRUNKEN AIRLINE PASSENGERS......

'Good morning Peter!’ it was a very cultured voice that said this on the car phone.

‘Oh, hello, Declan!’ I greeted my boss. And, treating him like a customer and, because I had a complicated intersection to negotiate, with heavy traffic, I added:  ‘What can I do for you?’ I must have sounded somewhat tense because his voice sounded extra relaxed:

‘You are on a busy road, aren’t you!’

‘Actually, yes I am, Declan, in the middle of an intersection, trying to make a turn.’

‘Don’t let me stop you, Peter’ A casual laugh came from my car loudspeaker. ‘I just want to ask you to go to South Australia  tomorrow. There is a new architect in Adelaide who wants to know more about the flooring products we have. I shall fax all the details to your home.’

‘Oh, thank you very much. Yes, I’ll take care of that.'

‘Right Peter, I leave everything in your good hands!’ Click and he was gone. And so was my opportunity to complete my right- hand  turn and some cars behind me started to sound their car horns in irritation.

The following day my boarding the plane to Adelaide went without a hitch as Marilyn from my office had booked for me and my ticket was waiting at the airline’s airport counter.

The weather was beautiful, with a deep blue sky devoid of clouds. With an air of expectation I settled myself into my seat and routinely checked the pocket in front of me for the latest in-flight magazine. There were always articles which interested me: from far away places, with the latest designs in fashion, interesting products or pictures about the life-styles of the rich and famous. Just paging through the glossy pages never failed to transport me into a different world.

‘But why was the plane not taking off?’ I wondered. The passengers had all been seated quite a while ago, and, yet, it remained motionless. Becoming increasingly fidgety in my seat I started to observe my surroundings in more detail.

Most passengers on board were obviously business people, in suits and ties and on the other side of the aisle there was a sports team, with tall, burly young men and their manager somewhere between them.

Nearby was an air hostess, stunningly beautiful; her hair style and face was that of a classic Hollywood actress with a figure to match. She reminded me of the actress Grace Kelly and momentarily I forgot my impatience and my appointment   in Adelaide. ‘Why did such a creature become an air hostess when she could be an actress or a top model?’ I asked myself.

She smiled across a row of seats to a young man in a window-seat and I started to concentrate on their conversation.

‘Will you, please, apologise for your remark?’ she smiled at him as if in reply to a compliment.

‘F… you! Get that bloody plane going, you c…’ The young sportsman had blond, closely-cropped hair and when trying to stand up, it turned out that he was too drunk to do so, leading him to fall back into his seat. All this team mates seemed to agree with him and muttered similar expletives.

The airline Venus showed no emotion. She looked at him with her beautiful blue eyes and her sweet lips whispered softly:

‘Apologise!’

That young man’s face got a shade redder and his eyes bulged with hostility: ‘Get that f….. plane in the air you b…’

Again his mates supported him and the air became blue with expletives.

Was this woman real or a mirage? She showed no effects whatsoever but gently leant into the row of seats towards the culprit.

‘Get off the plane!’ She smiled at him as if he was the only man in the world!

‘S…. are you getting this f…. plane flying or not? What a c…. you are.’

And, again, he was supported by a chorus of shouted words that would make a sailor’s tattoo blush!

During a break in all that commotion, I could make out her gently uttered words:

‘The plane is not leaving with you on board!’ She gracefully  nodded reinforcement to her statement.

I looked around the other passengers. The sports people were obviously too intoxicated to perceive reality, they kept the stream of swearwords coming out of their cake-holes. The rest of the plane just sat there with vacant faces conveying apathy.

A feeling of rage overcame me as no employee should be exposed to such a situation. I tried to stand up in support of this lady and had a lot to say about rat bags and riff-raff but was stopped by a restraining hand on my shoulder. Spinning around there was an air steward standing behind me who obviously could read my body language and forestalled my participation.

Smiling at me reassuringly, he calmed me down and made me sit down again.

Glancing at the situation, there was suddenly the pilot calmly explaining to the culprit that the plane simply would not leave with him on board.

‘Furthermore, I have called the airport police - they are on the way now!’ Still, it had no effect, neither on this man nor on his mates.

Sure enough, two stern looking officers in dark blue overcoats appeared and without ado, they asked the man for his airline ticket. This was given to them after much fumbling and was immediately pocketed out of sight. The man now had no ticket!

‘Come with us!’ This command was shouted and strong arms  reached out in an attempt to yank him from his seat.

Slowly, as if in a dream, the young man heaved himself out of his seat and staggered to the aisle. There, he was grabbed and, more dragged than walked, forced to leave the plane.

The captain, now showing his disgust in his face, offered an invitation to the other young lads: ‘Anybody else want to leave the plane?’

I do not know what went on their minds, if they were thinking at all, but it was suddenly very quiet. Too quiet.

Although I had a feeling of triumph, after all, justice had prevailed, and civilisation and good manners had been reinstated, I still would have expelled the manager or leader of this group as well because he clearly did not exercise control over the group he was responsible for.

Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org

http://www.life-on-the-road.com 

FEEDING SEAGULLS.....

Normally, at the end of my two-week’s trip to Tassieland, I always had at least three hours spare, where I had vacated my motel room and would sit on the beach, trying to relax.

My favourite place is on a grassy hill, overlooking the sandy foreshores and the relentlessly ebbing and flowing of the waters. It never failed to have a calming effect on me. This was very welcome as there was only hectic work awaiting me for me ‘on the mainland’.

Having bought two loaves of bread, I looked out for the seagulls who were flying around me enquiring as to my purpose for being in what they considered as their domain. They went zooming past me, ever closer, clearly intrigued as I was not eating anything; there were no potato chips to be had or any other welcome leftovers, a fact that seemed to add to their confusion.

‘What are you doing here?’ they seemed to cry in their peculiar shrill voices as I slowly unwrapped the first loaf of bread.
Ah, they knew what that was and the swarm thickened. From all directions they came, landing on the sand below me and their expressions were definitely ones showing expectation.

Finally, I threw the first piece of the delicious goodies and they all fluttered and screamed with excitement. It was quickly caught in mid-air by a hungry expert and off it zoomed with its tasty morsel to devour it in isolation and privacy.
The next piece of bread, too, was quickly caught and the third and fourth lumps, too, never reached the ground.
After a while, the first ones came back for more, with their gullets slightly bulging.

There was, of course, eager competition among them, but I had the good feeling of having brought enough for them all. And in order to be just, I kept throwing the pieces in different directions to equalize the feeding chance for everybody.
Throwing the food unexpectedly to one side, gives outsiders a chance to obtain some nourishment and it was amusing to note that some could not believe what the had suddenly caught!

Slowly, I kept breaking off and throwing – there was plenty of time – whilst my thoughts, first in turmoil, narrow down to the job at hand.

The birds now started to reveal personalities with different character and temper.
There was the greedy one, with its gullet already full, fluttering up and taking more bread away from the others. In the end, it didn’t know what do with it as it was already full. Yet it still keeps denying food to others, only to have to drop it somewhere far away.

Then there is the intimidator or stand-over merchant who runs around trying to discourage fellow birds from participating in the feeding. With its big belly and self-confident stance it pecks and pushes its mates till they fly away for a short distance, trying to escape its bullying.

Then, there was the polite one who stood still and waited for a morsel to come flying in its direction, completely relying on my sense of justice. It gratefully accepted a lump of bread I managed to throw right in front of it.

Others had the problem of having to cope with mob rule, that is, whoever caught something had to fly off quickly to a safe place, otherwise a pack of riff-raff would take it out of its beak only to have to continue to fight for it until it has been swallowed up by somebody lucky.

Then, there is the screamer, who believed in making itself noticed. Emitting shrill sounds, it tries to get my attention. Not for it to exert itself, it stands motionless and merely increases its voice to an incredible crescendo. And, if given a piece of nourishment far too big to swallow, it would not share with fellow screamers, but furiously peck everybody coming near.

Another type is the rogue, trying to ram others away with the tackle of an experienced rugby player.

The world around me disappeared as I kept feeding ‘my flock’ and I could clearly identify people I knew in their midst. The boss, union official, politicians, honest workers, friends and traitors, neighbours, and, yes, good colleagues. Of course some would be really offended if they knew how I identified them but this was my private world in which I dwelled happily with my thoughts, emotions and lots of insight. It was a world in which humans and animals merged as they both could be categorised by their character and without any difference!

Deeply absorbed in thoughts, I noticed a unique little bird. It seemed to have two useless legs, paralysed or broken, they looked normal but could not be used. It flew in, landed on its belly but was unable to walk or hop closer to where the action was. It was a scrawny bird, its feathers untidy and it definitely looked very unhappy. Its thin and scruffy neck showed that it had no nourishment for God knows how long and its hungry eyes followed my thrown pieces of bread without being able to do anything about it. Here was I creature desperately in need for a fair share of what others had and I had the power to do something about it!

Directing the bread farther and farther away to my right hand side, the whole flock moved in that direction, anticipating my future throws. That’s when I quickly lobbed a large piece to that crippled bird which gobbled it ravenously into its gullet.
With enraged cries the great flock returned, attempting to prevent this occurrence in the future. And again, I slowly directed my throws to my right side, farther and farther away. When I could not throw any farther, I quickly dropped a large piece in front of the handicapped creature and again if was gratefully accepted and stored away.

I did this a few times, till I noticed the poor creature preening itself, the feathers were tidied up and its beak seemed to move around its skinny body with more energy and zest. It looked around with more interest and its mood had clearly lifted. And with the tip of its beak pointing upwards, its gullet was bulging with sustenance – life was worth living again!

Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org http://www.life-on-the-road.com