Ok this is going to be a short post as I’m merely confirming a point I made in a previous blog.
Pilots share too much!
On Monday and Tuesday of last week, September 29 and 30 2014 to be exact, I ventured out of the country on my first ever business trip.
Off I went with my suitcase and sensible attire in tow to Dublin to help represent the brand I work with at an event put on by the company I work for. Following? Because I wish I wasn’t.
We all know that I’m not a great flyer. In fact I’m a terrible flyer. See here for more details.
The first flight was with a well known budget airline. It rhymes with Brianbear if that helps.
A group of us from work are all sitting together and I have my selected article of my crappy magazine ready to read to help me deal with takeoff. The takeoff doesn’t come as quickly as I’d hoped. We sat there for longer than we should have only for the pilot to eventually chime in and say, “Sorry we’re sitting here a little  longer than expected. A plane in Dublin has a fault.” (aside: my heart starts racing and I turn to a not-so-bawfaced-friend for answers). The pilot continues, “As you may know, Prestwick is the airport where a lot of aircraft maintenance takes place so we’re just waiting to take a spare part to Dublin and then we’ll be on our way. It’s just making it’s way through security now.”
I am not ok with this.
However un-ok I am with this, the plane eventually makes it’s way to the runway and takes off quicker than I can list all the swear words I know by heart.
We land in Dublin. I do my work, blah de blah, time to fly home.
The flight home, I tell you, was a damned nightmare.
First off, it’s a tiny plane with collapsable stairs. Oh dear christ. The plane also has exposed propellers. Oh holy Jesus.
So we take off, on time and due to land in Glasgow early. Hurrah me thinks. Wrong. Me should have prepared for what was about to happen next.
The captain chimes in and tells the crew to take seats for 10 minutes to landing as we’ve made good time. Fabulous. I can be reacquainted with the sweet ground once more. NO SUCH LUCK!
20 minutes later the captain says, “Sorry everyone. There’s been an accident at Glasgow airport.” (aside: Oh my God I’m going to die and I don’t have my mum with me.) The pilot continues, “The police are using the runway to land the helicopter.” (aside: Ok. So. Is it an airplane accident? Is it a road accident? Can we land safely? Will I ever see the Great British Bake Off final?) The pilot concludes, “There’s a lot of flights up here all wanting to land as Glasgow is a busy airport so we’re going to circle a bit up here until the runway is clear. We have about 30 minutes of fuel left so we should be good.”
MATE?! Why would you tell me that?
Here I am giving it the hail mary’s as I feel I’m about to meet my maker!
Cue verbal diarrhoea and almost panic attack.
The moral of the story is we landed safe and fine within about 20 more minutes of the scary announcement.
I made it! I’m alive.
Yet I am never. I cry, NEVER setting foot on a plane again.
The end.
foreveranitchynose 