Ryanair

Ryanair is not a low cost flight company. Ryanair is a community recruiting horrible people to bury innocent travellers.

Hard to explain why the gate of my flight was not yet announced a quarter to the time of the gate opening. Hard to explain as well why I decided I could sleep until the time of opening of the gates and how unworried I was about the idea of having only 30 minutes then to reach these bloody gates. Though, a night at the airport must not be of the most helpful to keep the brain cells alive and fresh. Well, when I woke up, 15 minutes later, the gate number was finally shining on the electronic board.

Anyway I allow myself to think it could have been alright if it had been EasyJet.

But they were there, the rats and their accurate glance, standing in the middle of the endless alley leading to my gate, waiting to catch me... The moment of truth. The luggage takes place on the scale, causing my heart and my breath to interrupt while fear runs along my spinal nerves...

“Sorry M’dam, you have two kilos over. You must remove stuff from your luggage otherwise you must pay a charge of 40 pounds.”

There I am, feeding the bin with dancing shoes, shampoo and pencils...

“0,50 over, is it ok?

-          Yeah, half a kilo over it’s ok”, she answers with this British accent we hate – not the one you hear from business men crossing London Bridge at peak hours, though...

On these words I carry on, gate 53, it’s ok, my shoes are gone, but it’s ok... And I carry on, stairs and alleys, and stairs again, and............ 53. GATE CLOSED

I look on the left, I look on the right, I run in the front... I grab a young woman decorated Ryanair. I am panicking, I need help, it is 20 past 7, gates are closed while they were meant to close at 30 past 7.

“Well it’s too late, there is nothing to do.” And her back faces me again; she is done with me.

Another woman Ryanair is walking not so far from 53. I desperately run to her. Right there, behind the window, few meters separate me from my plane to which escalators are still linked. Few minutes separate me from a normal, convenient departure.

And the second woman is not more sensitive to my fate than the first. She directs me to the ticket office, which should be indicated by the arrows “Emergency Exit”, but “Emergency Exit” points everywhere and my legs lead me anywhere, knock myself against shut doors, and my brain is flood with blood... I think I am like the chicken that was running without direction after that my mom and her family had cut its neck.

One consolation: the chicken can swear out loud in the UK...

-          Tabarnak, criss de câlisse...

Before I could succeed to reach the Ticket office, contradictory thoughts and feelings collide within my brain, causing an instant of intense confusion. My hand grabs my phone, looking for a hand, looking for someone to pull me out of this whole. Dignity, proud, everything collapses.

-          Don’t make a mistake, Gabry.

... Under this powerful voice, subdued to these words, my legs lead me to the ticket office.

9AM.

150 pounds spent on a ticket to Rome instead of Perugia.

Six hours to go waiting without a minute sleeping for the last 24 hours.

A hand luggage that is still overweight.

But I feel more powerful now. I have a strategy.

Walking around like an animal, exhausted, my legs now carry me to the comforting shop window of Krispy Creme. It seems to be the only thing to do at this moment.

-          You can get a second donut for only 50p, announces the guy behind the counter.

-          No, just one, thanks. And a latte.

I am still strong enough to resist this offer.......................... Or not......

-          Sorry, I changed my mind. Can I get this second donut for 50p?

Why not? At this point...

And it was a great idea. With my two donuts and my latte, I seem to forget that this is my life happening and joy, incredibly persistent, gains the cells of my body. I smile. And I laugh. A quiet laugh, a sigh that slides between the lips, dimples that appear on the cheeks...