Short Story Library

Day one:
Now seated, we waited. We had to wait twenty minutes because our wonderful airline missed their take off window. The take off was inconsequential and I pulled out the usual travel magazines from the rear of the seat in front of me. Shortly, the service began and I was offered water or a canned soda. There were sandwiches offered, cheese and meat or simply cheese; both were the typical BA soggy white roll in a plastic shell consisting of zero ingredients for those on healthy diets. I denied the offer and continued to read and drink the water. Water is key for flyers. Planes have climate systems that just seem to suck the moisture out of us humans. So I always drink lots of water. Water also helps to override any alcohol consumed during longer flights.

My wife chatted me awake. “Sorry honey, we’re really late.” “Oh, what time is it?” I said blinded as she raised the roladen letting in the scathing morning light. “It’s nine”, she replied. “What! I need to be at the airport in thirty minutes.”

*

So, this is how day one started. I jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. In the mirror, I wasn’t surprised by thinning hair, red eyes and the tired look I had on my early forties face. Damn, next time I would take on the responsibility of the alarm clock my self.

It was Wednesday and the idea was to get up early and get the kids and the wife to the airport, have breakfast and let them see me off with a smile. Now things were different, we had to move fast or I would miss my flight to London. I took a later flight than usual because my first meeting wasn’t till late afternoon, hence, the nice breakfast and time with the boys. So, in a hurry we managed to get the kids dressed and out to the car with the bags, and on the Autobahn in record time. I was at the helm and hit two hundred kilometers per hour and kept it there.

I live outside of Frankfurt and quite a distance from the airport, but at the speed I was driving, Frankfurt was behind us, and the airport in site within minutes.

Pleased with myself and our time, we parked and headed to the automated ticket machines. Frankfurt airport is all about efficiency and a well-planned infrastructure. The machine showed me what seats were available and I picked and isle seat like all business travelers. Turning round, boarding card held high showing it to my sons like a trophy or hunting prize I snickered; “Ha and we even have time to get something quick to eat.” Again proud of made up time through sheer speed and lack of a shower I smiled, and my sons little faces lit up.

I hate airports, their expensive tacky and often dirty or drab. Frankfurt’s none of the above, just expensive. So, when looking for food, one must be careful, or pay way too much. The closest and least expensive option was sadly McDonald’s, how cliche , an American in Europe eating at McD’s. The McDonald’s in Terminal two is a veritable playground for kids. It has a veranda where you can watch planes take off and land. It also has a giant rubber-floored area with slides and a huge ball pool where kids can get lost in ball fights while their parents double check their tickets and baggage. All the while shoveling fattening unhealthy food down for a quick unsatisfying meal and calling their children back to the table over and over again for tasty little bites of the stuff.

We had a good table and view of the play area. My wife pleasantly joined the other folks calling our boys back to take a bite of this and sip of that while I double checked my bags, passport and such. We had a surprisingly nice meal and I threw a few balls at the boys accidentally hitting someone’s child, making her look up in surprise and frustration. I, of course over apologized my way back to our table.

Having a look at my watch I realized that I had to get going. The security, always taking longer than expected, impatiently awaits. I kissed and bid my sweet family adieu and headed toward the dreaded security area.

Frankfurt Airport does a lot of things right and security is one of them. I was surprised how quickly I moved through the first of two controls. The Germans are no nonsense and efficient. I’m glad I left when I did, because my gate was the last one in D section, and seemed like miles and a labyrinth away. Flights to the UK are not considered inner-Europe (dumb) flights and therefore you have to go through two controls and march a mile to get the their distant gate. “Their” being British Airways. Finally, I arrived at the gate and like all others in Frankfurt there was the usual overprice stand for drinks and snacks. There was also a magazine stand with local and international fair. The gate wasn’t full and seemed just sparsely littered with ’suits’; businessmen with ears to mobile phones or thumbs bashing away at their blackberries. I found a nice spot and took out this journal. My new journal is a MacBook my brother left me when he died a few weeks ago and I promised to carry it with me and use only it for my writing. I tossed my Dell and went Mac, all in one rash decision based on love and loyalty to a brother who died way too young.

So here I am hacking away at this thin white notebook and stopping every now and then to have a look at my fellow flyers. I, like all writers, am very curious and I love to watch people. I just find people very interesting. How they walk, what they wear; it’s all interesting to me. My late brother always said I had a penchant for the trivial. He would say, “It’s like you’ve set aside a part of your brain to store useless facts and silly information that no one needs and you’ll never use. Chris, you’re a factoid, and I think this is something similar, though worse, than a hemorrhoid!”  Well, that was Todd, and he was very right.

The suit nearest me was wearing a drab colored three button number; just a bit to tight, obviously worn and old. I looked down at myself and was proud of the fact that today, I was wearing casual trousers, timberland shoes and a comfortable shirt. Today, I was certainly not a suit. I made an effort to leave my blackberry in my bag for the whole waiting period and would not take it out till in my hotel room.

The boarding call came on time and I quickly put my Mac away and moved like everyone to the line and waited to present my boarding pass. The bus waiting for us was large and I quickly found a seat. Like most things in Germany, the bus was very clean and took off in a timely matter. The other thing I think a lot about is time. I like to be on time, and I like others to be on time too. The one thing I hate about British Airways is that they are always, and I mean always—- late. I hate the fact that my firm has a corporate contract with them and we get to fly so damn cheap. So whenever flying outside of the US, I almost always have to use BA, arrgh!

So, we arrived at the plane deep into the tarmac, and it was not ready for us to board. The German bus driver made a funny comment about the airline, which proved my theory about their punctuality.

Finally, the crew had the plane ready to board and off we went up the aluminum steps to board the small craft. It was typical of the airline, shabby, small seats and not very clean. Thankful for my choice of an aisle seat, I waited while the other passenger in my row sat down.

Two hours later, we were going into a landing pattern making up some lost time. Off boarding was uneventful, and I hurried through the customs and received my stamp of approval.

London City airport is truly brilliant, its location is ideal for the business traveler and landing in the airport is always fun. It lies on the water of the Thames and looking out the left window, one always feels that we are about to land on the water. I like that part.

Off I hustled to the taxi stand, and entered a traditional black London cab. I immediately enjoyed being basked in English, I live and work in Germany and am fluent in the language, but it’s always a pleasure to be surrounded by the warm blanket of ones own native language. The cabbies in London are amazing and they always know exactly where to go and how to get you there fast. My cabby was an older man with the wrinkled face of a smoker and possibly drinker. He was friendly and had a hard cockney accent; I was whisked away rapidly to my hotel.

I stay in The Grange, directly at the Tower of London. Upon arrival, I was greeted by a Russian baggage handler, he’s very large. As my bags were gently removed, I am surprised as the handle just disappears in this guys ham like hand, I was thinking, would hate to be other side of a punch from this guy….

to be continued….