Wednesday 26 June 2013

Going Home?


Harry was excited, he’d been away from home too long, it was time to get back to his own bed, his big red armchair and his proper life. Taking a sabbatical had been a good idea, he’d certainly needed a break from the pressures that were building up around him, but now the 6 months was up it was time to get back to life, back to reality.
As he sat on the bus to the airport looking out for donkeys and sheep in the green Spanish hills, he smiled to himself; happy that he’d done it but happier to be going home.
Bilbao airport heaved into view, the strange, modernist, symmetrical design juxtaposed against the industrial buildings that surrounded it. Getting to the airport was stage one, his mission was within reach.  
Harry skipped off the bus and collected his suitcase and wheeled it off towards check-in. It was ages since he’d checked in at an airport and not online, it was a weird feeling not just looking for the baggage drop-off queue. Harry hoped there would be no queue, he hated waiting but he was disappointed to see the line for his flight; it’d take a good 15 minutes before he reached the orange, bored-looking woman behind the counter.
Harry smiled his ‘going home smile’; nothing could piss him off today.
Finally he reached the woman and handed over the printout of his booking and his passport and waited. 
And waited.
The woman looked at the paper and his document and then at Harry. He could see there was a problem.
‘This is for next week.’ She said handing the paper back to a confused man in a straw hat.
‘It’s what?’ said Harry looking at the paper.
‘For next week.’ she repeated before looking over his shoulder and inviting the next person forward.
Harry stood stock still looking at the printout. She was right, the paper said the 4th but how could it be?
‘Can I change it?’
The woman gave him a 'nothing I can do' shrug and continued to deal with the next customer.
Harry felt sick, he was trying to keep a clear head but he could feel the panic rising in him. How had he been such a muppet? His brain was so tuned to the thought of being on that flight that any other option seemed as unpalatable to him as the pig's ear he had eaten on one of his less well advised experiments. 
He took a deep breath, 'stay calm, stay calm' he mumbled to himself.
He looked around for the counter of the airline, but of course budget airlines, no sales counter just single check-in desks, manned by bored local handling agents. 
What the fuck was he going to do?
After she’d checked in the Spanish family of five, Harry approached her again.
‘Can I do anything?’ He could hear the desperation in his voice. He forced a smile, hoping his awkward grin and desperate eyes would somehow melt this woman. But it didn’t.
‘You have internet on your phone, try book new ticket’ she barked.

Harry sat in his big red armchair, home at last but 300 euros lighter. The 3G at the airport was painfully slow so by the time he’d got to the webpage, bookings for that flight had been closed. There was nothing else to do but to book with a different airline, one of the non-budget ones with offices and ticket desks. When she’d said the price he’d almost fainted but what else could he do? He took out his credit card, closed his eyes and made the purchase. 


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