Ryanair means never having to say you're sorry...
So another lovely flight with Ryanair. My bag was 12 Kilos over the weight limit, so I waddled through security dressed in...everything! They asked me to take off the extra clothes. 3 bins later they said that I could just go through. I told them that I still had a bathing suit, a cocktail dress, 2 tanktops, and then the two tanktops I was actually wearing today (as well as a pair of sweat pants, 3 more skirts, and a pair of black dress pants). They will never forget me! The fashion-conscious Italians were giving me all sorts of wierd looks, but then four of them (who turned out to be Torontonians, and why they were even flying Ryanair I have no idea. One woman was rubbing the lip gloss Air Canada gives out in Executive class on her lips. I have some too, but it is from my important sis) started talking to me, and soon were indignantly taking my side agains Ryanair. Why SHOULDN't I wear all my clothes if I wanted to etc. etc. It was pretty funny considering that I was not questioned at all about THAT.
So I got on the plane (which, as always, involves elbows and running to get a decent seat) and tucked my stuff under my seat. And the, for no reason at all, the harassment started. I could not keep my things under my seat. It was an Emergency exit (There was no door in the wall). I had to put it above. And I could not just drape my coat on my shoulders, it had to be ON me. In case we all had to escape, you see. I told him in French that he could take my bags but I did not know where they were going to go (The overhead bins were all absolutely full. Mostly with my clothes). He took that as lip and pointed to a 'Do not stow in emergency aisle' sign: I tried to explain that I was not questioning him, I just did not see where he could put them: Sigh: he took my purse away somewhere, and we took off. The announcement came on that we could walk around the airplane, so I got up to find where the annoying flight attendant had stuffed my purse (which I was loath to let out of my sight - it has loads of cash as well as the passport and everything I might ever need - including the executive lip gloss. Don't want to lose that) And before I was even out of my seat I was getting a lecture that the seat belt sign was still on and he did not care what the announcement had said. O-kay.
The attendents came around with a cart to sell food. And duty-free. And bus passes for Rome. And lottery scratch tickets. And Ryan Air memorabelia. It was almost landing time, so I offered my bag to the flight attendant. WITH A SMILE. He took it, and as he turned away the other flight attendant came over.
"Your coat..." she started.
I said that I knew, and that I was just buttoning it up, and that people were still wandering around the cabin, but okay. I buttoned it up and she kept watching me.
"Put your shoes on" she said. So I did. She did not leave.
"Your SCARF..."
I said that the scarf was on me. PATIENTLY. She said that I had to wind in around my neck. So I did, and then asked her if that was acceptable. She said that no it was not and that I had to KNOT it around my neck or she would take it away. I told her nicely and patiently that I was not going to knot the scarf around my neck. I was hot. I would knot it on the ends so if we had to flee suddenly it would not fall off, but that was as much as I would do. She didn't leave.
"Your tank top..."
I had taken off a layer of tank top and it was in my lap. I already had stuff all over the airplane, and I tried to explain this to her, and I offered to knot it to my scarf so we would all be attached. No, it had to go into the overhead bin.
So I asked (not to make trouble) why I couldn't hold a tank top in my lap but the guy next to me could hold a newspaper: There were 4 other people and they were all holding projectiles. She answered something incomprehensible about if there was an evacuation people could not step over my little purple tank top and as a result would all die. No-one would slip on a newspaper, though, or a paperback. Funnily enough, she didn't make me put away my camera, or notice that I had forgotten to buckle up.
IT was so wierd! I was talking to an Italian girl on the navette (they let everyone on: Now, I am not objecting sonce I was one of the last people, but it is scary to ride on the back stairs of the bus, pressed up against the doors tht open at each stop. Girl to my left STANK. The two guys in front of me - I was nose level to their butts - also stank. It was an okay ride though, because my new Italian friend and I complained about Flemish the whole way. She too noticed that they all know French but won't speak it. And things that their language sounds like gibberish) and she had watched the whole thing and was appalled. Lucky me! At least on the airplane when someone opened the overhead compartments a file-folder of mine fell out and hit someone on the head. I was screeching at them to wait and not open it yet (Although that someone may have been my new friend, now that I think of it. Oops!)
But I am in Roma, at a cute (thus far) family-run Pensione near the bus station. I have been here 45 minutes and guys go by yelling out "mio amore!" at me. Flattered, but annoyed.
Overall, Brussels was charming but wierd. I bought a waffle there and it was RAW. I don't remember if I wrote about this already, but not even strawberryice cream could save the waffle. I window-shopped and actually bought a teensy bag of Belgian chocolates to bring home, a bit of lace for me, a present for Dad, a late Wedding Present, and a little wooden mouse. He is so cute! Everyone needs a wooden mouse. Oh, and a teensy icon of the mannequen pis. It could have been worse, there were corkscrews, and you can GUESS where the corkscrew part came out of...
I also played a trivia game where you spin a wheel and answer a question about Belgian (or whatever they choose to ask) and maybe win a prize. The little Belgian boy before me was asked a multiplication question, and he won a balloon. I could do better than that, surely!
My question was easy, since they could tell I was not Belgian: How many Provinces in Belgium: I guessed 5. Or 7. The answer was 10, but I looked adorable and was suitably charminbg so I still got some authentic Belgian beer cup (There is no WAY it will not break) specially made for drinking a Belgian beer. I got a picture taken of me receiving it with the head of the "Marionette Pis society. There is a SOCIETY) As I waslked around the square guys kept touching the same spot on the cup and warning me that with the shape of the cup if you drink until the beer is just up the THERE somehow it will spill all over you. (So why MAKE the cup that shape then? I don't get it! The Belgians have changed the basic shape of a class to thwart it's only function. But it was a prize...) What a fun thing to have!
I sing tomorrow afternoon, so I am going to bed.
So I got on the plane (which, as always, involves elbows and running to get a decent seat) and tucked my stuff under my seat. And the, for no reason at all, the harassment started. I could not keep my things under my seat. It was an Emergency exit (There was no door in the wall). I had to put it above. And I could not just drape my coat on my shoulders, it had to be ON me. In case we all had to escape, you see. I told him in French that he could take my bags but I did not know where they were going to go (The overhead bins were all absolutely full. Mostly with my clothes). He took that as lip and pointed to a 'Do not stow in emergency aisle' sign: I tried to explain that I was not questioning him, I just did not see where he could put them: Sigh: he took my purse away somewhere, and we took off. The announcement came on that we could walk around the airplane, so I got up to find where the annoying flight attendant had stuffed my purse (which I was loath to let out of my sight - it has loads of cash as well as the passport and everything I might ever need - including the executive lip gloss. Don't want to lose that) And before I was even out of my seat I was getting a lecture that the seat belt sign was still on and he did not care what the announcement had said. O-kay.
The attendents came around with a cart to sell food. And duty-free. And bus passes for Rome. And lottery scratch tickets. And Ryan Air memorabelia. It was almost landing time, so I offered my bag to the flight attendant. WITH A SMILE. He took it, and as he turned away the other flight attendant came over.
"Your coat..." she started.
I said that I knew, and that I was just buttoning it up, and that people were still wandering around the cabin, but okay. I buttoned it up and she kept watching me.
"Put your shoes on" she said. So I did. She did not leave.
"Your SCARF..."
I said that the scarf was on me. PATIENTLY. She said that I had to wind in around my neck. So I did, and then asked her if that was acceptable. She said that no it was not and that I had to KNOT it around my neck or she would take it away. I told her nicely and patiently that I was not going to knot the scarf around my neck. I was hot. I would knot it on the ends so if we had to flee suddenly it would not fall off, but that was as much as I would do. She didn't leave.
"Your tank top..."
I had taken off a layer of tank top and it was in my lap. I already had stuff all over the airplane, and I tried to explain this to her, and I offered to knot it to my scarf so we would all be attached. No, it had to go into the overhead bin.
So I asked (not to make trouble) why I couldn't hold a tank top in my lap but the guy next to me could hold a newspaper: There were 4 other people and they were all holding projectiles. She answered something incomprehensible about if there was an evacuation people could not step over my little purple tank top and as a result would all die. No-one would slip on a newspaper, though, or a paperback. Funnily enough, she didn't make me put away my camera, or notice that I had forgotten to buckle up.
IT was so wierd! I was talking to an Italian girl on the navette (they let everyone on: Now, I am not objecting sonce I was one of the last people, but it is scary to ride on the back stairs of the bus, pressed up against the doors tht open at each stop. Girl to my left STANK. The two guys in front of me - I was nose level to their butts - also stank. It was an okay ride though, because my new Italian friend and I complained about Flemish the whole way. She too noticed that they all know French but won't speak it. And things that their language sounds like gibberish) and she had watched the whole thing and was appalled. Lucky me! At least on the airplane when someone opened the overhead compartments a file-folder of mine fell out and hit someone on the head. I was screeching at them to wait and not open it yet (Although that someone may have been my new friend, now that I think of it. Oops!)
But I am in Roma, at a cute (thus far) family-run Pensione near the bus station. I have been here 45 minutes and guys go by yelling out "mio amore!" at me. Flattered, but annoyed.
Overall, Brussels was charming but wierd. I bought a waffle there and it was RAW. I don't remember if I wrote about this already, but not even strawberryice cream could save the waffle. I window-shopped and actually bought a teensy bag of Belgian chocolates to bring home, a bit of lace for me, a present for Dad, a late Wedding Present, and a little wooden mouse. He is so cute! Everyone needs a wooden mouse. Oh, and a teensy icon of the mannequen pis. It could have been worse, there were corkscrews, and you can GUESS where the corkscrew part came out of...
I also played a trivia game where you spin a wheel and answer a question about Belgian (or whatever they choose to ask) and maybe win a prize. The little Belgian boy before me was asked a multiplication question, and he won a balloon. I could do better than that, surely!
My question was easy, since they could tell I was not Belgian: How many Provinces in Belgium: I guessed 5. Or 7. The answer was 10, but I looked adorable and was suitably charminbg so I still got some authentic Belgian beer cup (There is no WAY it will not break) specially made for drinking a Belgian beer. I got a picture taken of me receiving it with the head of the "Marionette Pis society. There is a SOCIETY) As I waslked around the square guys kept touching the same spot on the cup and warning me that with the shape of the cup if you drink until the beer is just up the THERE somehow it will spill all over you. (So why MAKE the cup that shape then? I don't get it! The Belgians have changed the basic shape of a class to thwart it's only function. But it was a prize...) What a fun thing to have!
I sing tomorrow afternoon, so I am going to bed.
posted by Melamondiale @ 1:20 PM
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