Mother meets her match

Well, this is awkward. I am very aware that my last post was... okay, a while ago. I can't even excuse myself by saying nothing entertaining has occurred since August, as we all know how untrue that is. Yet here we are, many months later with bundles of stories hovering somewhere in my brain.

My most recent trip away, in the company of Mother, brought plenty of tales - of course. Unfortunately, many of these events seem to take place mid-flight. Within the tight confines of a plane. No escape to rid myself of embarrassment.  Having now accomplished the title of 'frequent flyer', I have mastered the best system for in-flight comfort. I am equipped with my neck pillow; pyjama-style clothing; perfume (to lightly spritz in my personal space bubble in the event that a nearby passenger decides to drench herself in  100 year old toxic body spray); a book; at least two magazines and my iPod. Most importantly, I make sure we arrive at the airport with sufficient time to purchase food and drink (because, from experience, I know I will be disappointed with the in-flight over-priced 'menu').  A large bottle of water and healthy snacks to last the journey. 

At the airport, I walk alongside Mother, who is dressed in a rather lovely  silk cocktail dress, high patent heels and an array of jewellery. Obviously, I address the problematic jewellery before leaving the house, however Mother protests and proceeds to bleep as she goes through security check.  Every time she is stopped and scanned. I try to communicate telepathically to the security, apologising for Mother's stupidity, only to be overridden by Mother declaring loudly; "OH GOD, this happens every time, you know! Hahahaha, SO sorry!" 

Mother also refuses to bring anything for the journey, claiming it defeats the purpose of 'light-packing'.  So, she is consistently frustrated when she has read the in-flight magazine and safety card twice and begins annoying fellow passengers instead. This time, she made a friend for the journey which was much to my delight; peace and quiet for me! Also, even though I offer and persuade Mother to PLEASE purchase something to eat at the airport, she does not.  She "just wants to get there" and fears that stopping to buy provisions at the airport will somehow delay the arrival at the other end.

So, here we are on the plane. Mother immediately picks up the menu, exclaiming her starvation loudly (in an attempt to catch the attention of the small stewardess who is far too busy struggling with a large cabin bag in the overhead lockers) and runs through the sandwiches offered. 

"Look darling! Smoked salmon! How lovely! OOOOH and they have rosemary focaccia!"

She continues; "Oh WOW! They even do flatbread, that sounds healthier doesn't it darling? Gosh, you know, eating healthier just makes me feel so superior, doesn't it you darling?" ..... "Oooooh, they have something that says 'Milano' - that must be fresh from Italy, do you think it's fresh from Italy, darling? Italians always know what they're doing, maybe I should have that one, whatever it is. Hmm..."

So, we are just taking off and Mother is already beginning to shift around in her seat. Impatience setting in early as usual. As soon as the seat belt signs are switched off, Mother immediately spins around, rather violently, in pursuit of the air stewards.

"Why aren't they coming yet?! What are they waiting for?! I'm hungry! For God's sake, what are they doing back there? Why do they have to close that curtain? What are they hiding?"

I can sense that the passengers behind are slightly disturbed by Mother's aggression as they have all gone quiet, intently focusing on anything else. 

Five minutes later and Mother has chosen her final three. Sandwich-choices, I mean. Not victims. 

Another ten minutes pass, with a fidgety Mother beside me and the stewards appear with their trolleys at either end of the plane.

"FINALLY!!!!!" Mother rests back in her seat and rolls her eyes to the passenger beside her. What she hasn't quite figured out yet is that I can hear what they are saying to the passengers.

"Any duty-free items for you, sir? The Lancôme gift set is on offer, madam."

What I failed to mention earlier, is that Mother and I seem to always be allocated seats right in the middle of the plane. Mother is both contented by this (being near the wing means easier escape path, therefore higher on the safety spectrum) and yet also annoyed by this as it means we are last to be served. 

Eventually they reach our row (I bow my head into my book) and Mother whips up the menu, ready to order her Italian, freshly-imported gourmet sandwich (on this budget airline) and then her eyes land upon the teddy bears and cigarette multipacks.

  

"...I want... a ... sandwich... what's that? Hmmmmmm?? What??"

"Yes madam, we'll be coming along with the food shortly, don't worry. This is duty-free, can I offer you anything from duty-free madam"

"No! I DON'T WANT ANY DUTY FREE!!!! I'VE JUST SPENT TWO HOURS IN DUTY FREE WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!?! I'M STARVING I WANT SOME BREAKFAST DAMMIT!  Oh for God's sake! Go and get the other trolley!"

Mother's voice has risen. So has my iPod's volume.

"Madam, we shall be bringing refreshments soon, don't worry"

Mother looks a little... red. She huffs back into her seat and, again, turns to the passenger next to her and rolls her eyes.

Unfortunately, the refreshments trolley does not soar out right away and Mother's impatience grows. We are almost an hour into the flight and Mother is peering at my snacks. I offer some to her, in the hopes it will keep her quiet for a while (to mirror the faulty-parenting techniques for the fellow bratty children on board).

"NO! I DON'T WANT THAT I WANT MY ITALIAN SANDWICH!!"

I attempt persuasion; "Right, okay. Are you sure? I don't think they'll be getting to our row for a little whi--"

"THEY BETTER BLOODY WELL SERVE ME FIRST OR I'LL BE TALKING TO THE BLOODY PILOT!!!! BLOODY STUPID SYSTEM."

For the next ten minutes, Mother's head whips around every thirty seconds, scans intently with a frown and devil-eyes (passengers in the front line of her view sharply bow their heads and avoid eye contact) and then swivels back with a huff (each time more obnoxious than the last).

Eventually, upon her thousandth whip, Mother spots the refreshment trolleys emerging. One from the front of the plane. One from the back. Mother pushes the 'assistance' light. Followed by waving her arms above her head, as though she were experiencing trouble at sea.

A young stewardess approaches;  "Yes madam? What can I help you with?"

"Yes, thank you. I've been waiting for hours! What have you been DOING?! Anyway, yes, I'd like one these sandwiches--"

"Oh, yes madam of course we'll be getting your row shortly. We must go from the back to the centre and my colleagues up there will also be working their way up, don't worry you will get served madam"

"Pardon?" Mother is a little taken aback. "You mean to tell me that just because of my unfortunate seat that I DID NOT choose, I am served LAST!? Unacceptable. Unacceptable."

"I'm very sorry madam but we must serve this way. Either myself or my colleagues will reach you soon and you will be served, don't worry madam, we'll go as fast as we can"

With this, the stewardess scuttles away before Mother can protest any more.

Sorry to say,  the stewards did not put their full efforts into going as fast as they could. By the time they reached our row, Mother was almost purple.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!" Mother addresses an orange girl in her late twenties.

"We've been going as fast as we can, madam" 

Oh dear. The stewardess is a little sassy. This is most definitely not going to go smoothly.

"NO YOU HAVEN'T! I've had my eyes on you all. You've been chatting. Moving very slowly with no sense of urgency at all! You know, I spoke to that lady down there.." Mother jabs her finger at the timid stewardess down the aisle, "and she informed me that I would be served soon. SOON?! This is not soon. This is appalling--"

Sassy cuts her off; "Madam, don't shout at us. We have done our best to get to your row as quickly as possible. There's only two of us madam." She smacks her gum against her cheek.

"Well you better stop talking and give me some food because I've been waiting the whole flight and we'll be landing any minute!"

"No madam, we have another hour and half in the air."

Mother forcefully opens her menu, shaking with fury, and points to the Milano; "Can I have that one please. With some vodka."

I watch the two stewardesses exchange glances before Sassy looks at Mother. I can see it already. The news is about the hit and I am ready to silently slide under the seat in front of me.

"Sorry, madam. We don't have that, madam. You'll have to choose something else."

"WHAT?!?!?!??!? What are you saying?! PARDON????? Are you honestly telling me that I have waiting ALL THIS TIME and you don't even have what I want?!?! WHY??"

Sassy purses her lips; "Madam, you'll have to lower your voice, you're disturbing the other passengers. We've been flying this aircraft all morning and there hasn't been a chance to restock. We can't be expected to carry all the sandwiches on board, madam."

Mother is boiling and doesn't verbally respond. Instead she jabs her finger at her second option (prepared Mother) and gives the stewardess a look that says "Well? What about that one? Have you got that one? Or have I asked for too much? Is that too difficult? GIVE ME THIS ITALIAN SANDWICH NOW OR I WILL SHOVE A MINIATURE GIN BOTTLE UP YOUR NOSE!!"

Sassy is now smirking; "I do apologise, madam, we only have a ham and cheese sandwich left..."

"I DON'T WANT A HAM AND CHEESE SANDWICH! I AM NOT TYPICALLY BRITISH! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! Of course you have the sandwich that nobody wants, we all want ITALIAN FOOD THAT WAS ADVERTISED IN YOUR MAGAZINE!!!!! Anyway, of course that's all you've got left! You've been dawdling! No urgency at all!"

"You don't have to take that attitude, madam. As I told you, we've done our best to get to you."

"No you have not!"

"Yes we have, madam"

"No."

"Yes."

"NO!"

"...Yes, madam. We have."

"You haven't and you're the one with an attitude! I know the CEO of this company..." here, Mother makes an obvious glare at Sassy's name badge; "and I am speaking to her tomorrow. We are friends and I am going to tell her of the APPALLING service displayed on today's flight."

Sassy retaliates again ( I wish she'd cease); "You're being very rude madam. Would you like the ham and cheese sandwich?"

"Well I suppose I'll have to if that's all you've got!"

"Right, madam."

"Don't forget my vodka!!"

"Yes, madam"

At this point, Mother leans over to me and says; "Do you want any rubbish they're serving, darling?"

This was a low point in the journey for me, personally, as I had been pretending to be unrelated to Mother entirely. Completely invisible and definitely not a part of the crazy lady's party. Alas, I am now clearly an acquaintance at best and force myself to shake my head and bury my head in my book even further (nearly suffocating myself). 

The ordeal comes to a close as Sassy's terrified colleague reaches out, shaking, for the money Mother is handing to her and they both roll away as Mother unscrews the vodka and fingers the plastic protecting her rather soggy sandwich.

As we disembarked the plane, I shuffled along behind Mother and greeted the stewardesses with an apologetic grimace, which I remain hopeful they understood as; "please do accept my apologies for this lady in front of me here as I'm sure she suffers from Tourettes and other forgivable syndromes"