At this point my butter has warmed sufficiently to allow me to spoon it onto my bread roll. I am surprised there are no chopsticks and only a plastic spoon to eat my sweet and sour chicken with. Then I remember Wayne, he probably vetoed the chopsticks, and then the knives and forks before he mandated the temperature of the tea too. No boiling water will be weaponised on his watch I scoff, as I wash the bread down with luke warm green tea.
I sound ungrateful but I am happy to be here, on board flight HO1662 to Shanghai. I have just switched to WordPress having confirmed there is indeed satellite internet access onboard that I have successfully used Alipay to secure access to. I am so determined to post a blog whilst onboard that I don’t care how boring it is.
I have been in the habit of carrying a notepad around which I started bleeding ink into as soon as I took my seat onboard this Boeing 787-9. Not because I intended to ever make my notes public, no, I enjoy letting words pour out onto paper until my mind calms and I am distracted by something more interesting. This time my distraction was the signage in front of me touting Wi-Fi onboard. So here we are, a million feet in the air, on our way to Shanghai together.
Notebook Excerpts
But wait, there goes Wayne past me again this time carrying something in his hands which is breaking protocol. I’ve had eyes on ‘Wayne’ since I boarded, he didn’t introduce himself, he didn’t greet me either, he just stood there at the entrance, lips pursed incase politeness got the better of him. PRC Order 2969; Never smile on duty.
His stature average, his purpose in his short sleeved white shirt with a body camera hooked to his left epaulette is unknown. The red dot of the camera caught my eye. China is watching me live from his shoulder I thought as I make my way to 50D on the emergency exit row with loads of stretch.
Wayne reminds me of the man at the check-in desk. Perfect for policing. Their ability to conduct affairs without showing emotion. “Passport please” the short tanned man said in a peg-on-your-nose voice. He was giving me Arab heritage with his slim face, deep brown eyes and large features, like his nose that he wiped with a crumpled tissue before stuffing it back up his sleeve. “Your passport is wet” he said without any intonation. He was not asking me a question just making me aware of his authority.
I answered him anyway in some sort of corrective tone about it having been wet a few years previously but remaining incredulous that I have obtained two visas with this iteration of passport and no-one has ever mentioned wetness as a problem. He asked me when I was returning from China and then incorrectly told me the expiry date of my visa, a temporary standoff until his Chinese colleague interjected and put him right. What he then wanted to say was, i’ll let you off this time, and then I break into a million thank yous, but instead he sputtered out a few cold consonants about putting my bag on the scales. 23kg exactly. Got you there mate.
Airport security at Manchester airport was a calm and coordinated breeze. No longer necessary to take out liquids or electronics, staff were able to conduct affairs while continuing conversations with each other like we were invisible.
I was through in minutes, their progress report on the ceiling mounted TV screen informed me the throughput was 120 people below their target of 400. With a 18.6% rejection rating. I was then ushered through the body scanner without so much of as a rub down.
Once onboard the plane I stuff my hand luggage and the 1ltr bottle of Bombay Saffire I bought for £13.60 and the equivalent price for 15ml of hand cream into the overhead compartment.
I write about my check in experience and Wayne. We will call him Wayne but he doesn’t wear a name badge. Something reminds me of a John Wayne cowboy movie I’ve never watched. He must be one of those onboard security marshals. I thought they usually go undercover but this dude sticks out. His short grade two haircut and company issued soft black loafers makes me believe he’s new to the role. He looks awkward and keeps busy by helping the odd bewildered passenger looking for their seat.
I get comfortable and coax my frizzy hair into a hair band and commit the lack of airbridge and jet engines big enough to hand-stand in to my notebook. My hands continue to write the experience in the moment, the 2/3 full flight, the gender of the cabin crew and their gender conforming attire. The only male crew are Wayne and another male attendant who don’t get to choose between a baby blue skirt suit or a pastel pink dress. PRC Order 2345; men wear the trousers in China. Taxiing to take off I note my hands are not sweating, I know I am afraid of flying even if my cool demeanour belies it.
It’s easy now at a million feet, plane steady, belly full, to forget the -53C outside temperature and the shrill of the engines working to keep a million bottles of gin up in the air. That’s why people hate turbulence, because it is a reminder of the insanity of it all.
I write: We take off and the ground falls away, the cloud is thick and the ascent bumpy, I smell my Elizabeth Arden hand cream evaporating with the heat of my palms. I pause while we climb. I put my pen down and resume after ten minutes to tell you the plane is configured with three columns of three seats.
I write; craning my head to look out the window, watching the clouds out the window illuminated by the sun, seems the back end of the plane is stuck in a huge dark sky as the window I’m looking through darkens. I look around, the truth is this plane has tinted windows. No more window blind announcements, the cabin can be dimmed into artificial darkness in the middle of the day! I am flying into the future.
I am ecstatic to live in an era of flying its equally terrifying and thrilling to take off into the air, to the farest of easts just to learn a language.
Seatbelt sign is off and Wayne is doing the rounds. Going up and down the aisles, I note his shiny silver belt buckle and bumbag. His hand remains on his left hip where a square protrusion is sticking out from. That’s his holster, a real life cowboy ready to draw.
Has he got it in him? I am fixated on him as he passes by again, the third time in the first half hour of seatbelt free time. I am going to follow him on his next rounds.
I’m back at my seat admiring the uniformity of the hairstyles. Thick black hair like a burnt cinnamon swirl pinned to the back of their heads. I can just make out the word ‘xi gai’ when the trolley operator passes through she must be announcing her arrival, minding peoples knees. After we finish our meal I wonder if it might be a taser he’s carrying. Im all over him like a clairvoyant to the bereaved. He paces the cabin like clockwork every 15 minutes, but this time I can see him coming down the aisle, he is carrying a tray, in both hands!
I know it’s my chance. I get up and follow him to the back, eyes locked on his left hip, I make up the distance between us, I go to reach out, a passenger bursts from the toilet blocking my way, the words sorry leave their lips but I’m looking right through them. Wayne quickly releases the trays to the galley staff behind my annoying human shield. I pretend to wait for the toilet, he turns to guide me away from the galley to the now vacant cubicle. I sit in there planning my next move.
I fake flush, pull the doors and they fold to release me. He is there, his back to me, his white vest now visible underneath the shirt, of course, no shirt ever stays that white. He is there on his phone thumbing a message with both hands, his back right shoulder to me, I hesitate, maybe I should mind my own business.
I slip a hand behind him towards the holster, If I could just get a feel I’d know what we are dealing with, could firm it up then I’d know for sure. Then he turns his head to me we meet eyes, he can’t see my hand outstretched behind him, I look confused fumble at the wall and say I am mistaken and he points me back to the toilets. I wait there in the queue for the toilets. Then return to my seat to hatch another plan.
I’m impatient for entertainment so I walk up to his seat, they’ve placed him in the first row, aisle seat, but he’s not there so I go to the galley to look, he’s there and I make conversation, he immediately removes his camera. That was easy I thought, we talk about Covid 19 and my need to learn Chinese in China. I ask him if he has a gun he smiles, slowly unzips his holster and then his watch beeps. “It’s time to do my rounds” and marches off in earnest.
I am left there breathing heavily, the unknown contents of his holster too alluring, I detest the power he wields over me so I march after him, I must know, now. By the time he gets to the end of the plane im on his heels and he’s shocked when he turns to see me, eyes blood shot, I pin him to the wall with my arm accross his chest. He resists but I cover his mouth with my hand and sucker punch him to the ground. We tussle over the bag it’s contents crunching under my force.
“Show me” I shriek, I need to know! Then he gets to his feet angrily pulls the zipper open and like Turkish teeth the white plastic gleams back at me! It was a hoard of plastic forks, I knew you were behind this I said. I pulled his index fingers so far back it snapped like it was a fish bone.
Now make a wish!
majorloveme 