A Daily Jem

I've come to the conclusion that skinny people travel well.

First of all, do you even sweat? No, why, because in the middle of a South African summer you can wear short shorts to the airport with a barely covered midriff and look fantastic. Well guess what? Some of us travel for work and yes, we sweat, we look frumpy and at the end of the day catching a redeye to another city we know better than the GPS, that’s definitely wine you smell, because we just drank all the free wine. And we’re late, always late. Why arnt there boarding notices in the airport lounges? You free wine giving devils.

I left the house this morning wearing fashion. I arrived back at the house looking like a Mr Price Sale. Why? Because there is NO WAY to travel in style.

Once I tried to wear heels to work, work being in Cape Town and home being Joburg. I had seen it being done by at a thousand commuter models in the last week, so I tried it.

1x taxi ride, 1x long ass haul your bag down the Gautrain escalators, 1x km walk to the check in desk, OBVIOUSLY boarding at the last gate in the airport and walking down that gawd awful ramp to the plane that makes your toes curl to support your poorly chosen attire, 3x apologies whilst plumping into your window seat later, whilst 1x eye murdering the bitch next to you whose heels are 5cm higher than yours but clearly had botox in her forhead as a sweat bead hasn’t broken in years you realise… she’s a 1x robot.

How can I not get this right? Ive flown more than Miley Cyrus’ private jet, yet when it comes to the security queue I can’t get my laptop/s out fast enough. The first bit of travel anxiety starts to tickling down my back and it’s settled, No matter how prepared I am the pressure you other travellers give with your beady eyes as “Amateur” drains across your face, give us, other well seasoned travellers enough to put me off travelling for life. I want to float, I want to be that girl that looks like she travels, but I feel like I am that girl that looks like she left the farm for the first time.

Do you do a pre-flight prayer? You know the one that as you start to queue after the 5 minutes of boarding calling, you start to survey the “manscape”.. At this point I’ve lost a bag to the air trolley, so I start to feel nimble and light. It’s at that moment I begin…
“Dear God, Please may I sit next to the most attractive man on this plane, see the one I’m looking at, yes, him, no, no not him, HIM, but if you’re paying more attention to saving cats on roof tops I understand, you are God BUT if you can’t get me next to him, please, please may the person be mute. A skinny mute. A skinny mute with no arms or legs, that hasn’t eaten anything gassy and is poor so he can’t enjoy the cash bar….Thanks.”

It bring me to this reason I am writing this rant. Not for the lack of my travel skills but for the love of ALL THINGS unpleasant. I am unfortunately writing this whilst post pre-flight prayer in between two of the most disgustingly gross humans I have ever come across. (A friend of mine posted last week that people that travel often would never get the middle seat, well my luck, and organisational skills, properly ran out this time). Whilst burping ALL the free food they consumed before the flight, “is that chicken?” I decided to write about my 1000 thoughts of how badly I travel. AND sincerely hoping that the two Shrek’s beside me are reading this and respect little humans like me to leave the food alone! Oh God, the guy on my left just ordered a beer. Sweet baby potatoes, my eyes are starting to water.

As I left the plane walking at a seriously “get me off this damn air-bus” pace, I hear a small but obviously male voice behind me.

Tiny voice man: “Miss, miss, sorry miss”
I will not turn around. I am done here. Whatever you found of mine, you can keep it. 
Fuck. 
Me: “Oh, hi.”
It’s one of those beer consuming, small people crushing, silent burpers. 
Tiny voice man: “Sorry Miss, are you a journalist?”
Me: “No. I just like to write.”
Tiny voice man: “Do you write for anyone public?”
Seriously? This dude.
Me: “ Yes, I have a blog.”
Tiny voice man: “Oh.”
Giving a small smile, I depart this conversation.
And then…
Tiny voice man: “I’m really sorry, it’s been a long day. I didnt mean to you, you know, make you uncomfortable.”
For the love of all things, I become a human again. 
Me: “It’s ok, neither did I”

As I walked to the train, I couldn’t help but think… I’m not the worst traveller in the world.

*Air Punch!*