Air travel.
Aug. 12th, 2013 11:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sister_luckTravelling by plane is great for people-watching - all that random being herded along that you suffer through means that you are very up and close to people and can observe their most intimate behaviour. (Well, not that kind of intimate, usually.)
There is this unspoken convention that you just ignore things, like the fact that someone is farting on the plane - the silent but deadly kind - like on the flight home.
You might exchange looks with your travelling companions, but in general you keep quiet. Oh, yes, we did discuss whether our suitcases might be too heavy with the nice German-Portuguese family behind us. They travelled light.
But we didn't really talk about what prompted our conversation which started when the designer-clad couple with their precious son who were right in front of us in the queue at check-in discovered that their three huge-ass suitcases were all over the weight limit. They seemed rather surprised that they had to pay extra. Thankfully they kept the arguing and attempts to weasel out to a minimum and paid up. But the whole exchange took a long long time - and no, they didn't look once at the people waiting behind them, not a single apologetic smile. They did pay, they were civil to the lady at check-in but they just oozed entitlement.
Of course, we sat right behind them on the plane.
Which meant I could do some more observing. Their pretty long-haired son didn't like the sandwich provided, so he got to order from the menu. The parents shared a small bottle of champagne. Mama read a self-help Eastern philosophy-style book. It was clear that they were loving parents and their kid was well-behaved.
They turned out to be a lot less obnoxious than I first thought - they were just rich.
(And I'll never ever be that perfectly styled - make-up, fingernails, Moschino blouse, not for a special party and certainly not on a flight on my way back from holiday.)
Of course, the keeping quiet thing happens because it's a mutual agreement.
Like when our kid woke up from two solid hours of slumber and declared that his bum hurt. Repeatedly.
I'm sure there were glances but no one said anything.
There is this unspoken convention that you just ignore things, like the fact that someone is farting on the plane - the silent but deadly kind - like on the flight home.
You might exchange looks with your travelling companions, but in general you keep quiet. Oh, yes, we did discuss whether our suitcases might be too heavy with the nice German-Portuguese family behind us. They travelled light.
But we didn't really talk about what prompted our conversation which started when the designer-clad couple with their precious son who were right in front of us in the queue at check-in discovered that their three huge-ass suitcases were all over the weight limit. They seemed rather surprised that they had to pay extra. Thankfully they kept the arguing and attempts to weasel out to a minimum and paid up. But the whole exchange took a long long time - and no, they didn't look once at the people waiting behind them, not a single apologetic smile. They did pay, they were civil to the lady at check-in but they just oozed entitlement.
Of course, we sat right behind them on the plane.
Which meant I could do some more observing. Their pretty long-haired son didn't like the sandwich provided, so he got to order from the menu. The parents shared a small bottle of champagne. Mama read a self-help Eastern philosophy-style book. It was clear that they were loving parents and their kid was well-behaved.
They turned out to be a lot less obnoxious than I first thought - they were just rich.
(And I'll never ever be that perfectly styled - make-up, fingernails, Moschino blouse, not for a special party and certainly not on a flight on my way back from holiday.)
Of course, the keeping quiet thing happens because it's a mutual agreement.
Like when our kid woke up from two solid hours of slumber and declared that his bum hurt. Repeatedly.
I'm sure there were glances but no one said anything.
