Having managed to survive the crush of over-eager travellers “queuing” to get through the flight gate, I walk, somewhat dishevelled but triumphantly and in an orderly fashion toward the plane door. In my peripheral vision I see a pristine traveller with BIG hair and manicured talons strutting her way up the left hand side of the queue. Bare-faced cheek!
Cue slow innard boiling…
With a nonchalant toss of her bleached hair, she thrusts her over sized tote bag back and her heavily padded chest forward as she slinks innocently up the queue without even a wobble on her impossibly high stiletto heels. But I – in the latest imitation Converse trainers, a Mark de Pri backpack bursting inelegantly at the seams and a top stained by lunch (this isn’t just a food stain, this is an M&S food stain…) – I am Unintimidated. Many years of silent queue battles have prepared me for a time such as this.
Eyes narrow, heartrate quickens, insides burn…
Almost imperceptibly I angle my body so as not to meet her icy ‘Dare-to-challenge-me’ stare, and, making my body as wide as possible: hip to the side, foot forward, elbows firmly out, I rise to the challenge. I anticipate her every step: sidestep, baby step, left block, hip shift right, gentle nudge… Justice will prevail.
Moments later, I – Conqueror (disdainful and unspoken insults blistering my tongue) – step onto the plane. Selecting my seat, I settle down for the flight, congratulating myself for handling the monstrous ordeal with such silent grace…
my small corner 