jazzbot
VIP Member
They’re honestly the type of people that get me nervous before a long flight.
Imagine… being at the gate mentally preparing to sit on a seat for 12 hours when Wayne and Waynetta rock up across from you at the gate.
You hear them before you see them. The gruff accents, the noise and commotion as they grunt at each other while placing their bags down to mark their territory to the sound of clanking bottles. It can’t be beer, right!? The smell of alcohol, BO and fags rise simultaneously as they brush by. Addressing their kids like a champion fish wife. “Sih heyyyor neow”. Slowly you start to move your gaze up from your phone as curiosity gets the better of you, while the fear of making eye contact keeping a wide eyed gawp at bay. At this point you realise their orders are directed off in the distance, where you spy an elderly woman, exhausted, juggling two young kids through the sea of people. “Hurry Ma, have yiz goh all de bags? Oim on me holi-day-uz!”
sequels a woman who resembles the head from Beetlejuice in a see through crop top four sizes too small in the shade nude. As you wonder if she is immune to the cold, your eyes are distracted by her neck tattooed accomplice swigging beer looking like a main character from love/hate missing from set. He looks deep in thought as he stares into space… or perhaps the group of young women in his eyeline has captured his attention.
You ponder if the nightmare has begun? The feeling of dread consuming every fibre of your body.
The pleas to God for a seat at the opposite end of the plane your only comfort. For God couldn’t be this cruel to me, could he?
Imagine… being at the gate mentally preparing to sit on a seat for 12 hours when Wayne and Waynetta rock up across from you at the gate.
You hear them before you see them. The gruff accents, the noise and commotion as they grunt at each other while placing their bags down to mark their territory to the sound of clanking bottles. It can’t be beer, right!? The smell of alcohol, BO and fags rise simultaneously as they brush by. Addressing their kids like a champion fish wife. “Sih heyyyor neow”. Slowly you start to move your gaze up from your phone as curiosity gets the better of you, while the fear of making eye contact keeping a wide eyed gawp at bay. At this point you realise their orders are directed off in the distance, where you spy an elderly woman, exhausted, juggling two young kids through the sea of people. “Hurry Ma, have yiz goh all de bags? Oim on me holi-day-uz!”
sequels a woman who resembles the head from Beetlejuice in a see through crop top four sizes too small in the shade nude. As you wonder if she is immune to the cold, your eyes are distracted by her neck tattooed accomplice swigging beer looking like a main character from love/hate missing from set. He looks deep in thought as he stares into space… or perhaps the group of young women in his eyeline has captured his attention.You ponder if the nightmare has begun? The feeling of dread consuming every fibre of your body.
The pleas to God for a seat at the opposite end of the plane your only comfort. For God couldn’t be this cruel to me, could he?
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or how many washes I've done this week? 
