Shoot me please

Ok ok ok..... back again from a short stint in Abu Dhabi. For those who don't know Abu Dhabi, it's exactly like Doha but with more buildings and less sand; and a bit like London but with 50 degrees C... no it's not, it's absolutely not in the remotest, not by any leap of the imagination, anything like London on any level whatsoever.

Alright, now, where was I? oh yea. I flew Qatar Airways again, not like I have a choice. I won't talk about them again because I've done that rant already.

What I will talk about is the check in. You know, the part before you take your seat and you find out your sandwiched between mr smelly and mr ugly?

Anway, I arrive at the airport, and walk upto the x-ray machine they have before the check-in counters. You know the ones, where you walk through a metal detector. You should know, these detectors hate me. A guy in front of me will walk through with chains hanging from his clothes and all manner of metal fixtures piercing his body (and those are the ones that are visible!!) and the machine is as silent as a mouse. I walk through and the thing will light up like a christmas tree and sirens will go off as policemen point guns in my face.

"belt please" I am ordered. I quickly comply and walk through the machine again. More sirens and lights. I walk back, trying my best to stop my pants from falling down. "jacket please", I curse the day I bought that denim jacket, again, through the machine (you have to realise that at this point a queue of irate travellers is building up behind me) more sirens and lights. Then I remember that my boots have steel eyelets on them, I take them off and I am ordered to place them on the x-ray machine. I am seriously thinking of slashing my wrists and draining my body of blood just in case theres too much iron in it.

This time! This time! I'm uttering under my breath,  MORE LIGHTS AND SIRENS. I'm panicking now, I have nothing left, I'm worried that the sight of me walking through the detector in my underwear will just be to much for the waiting queue behind me and I will be beaten to deat with my own boots and strung up with my own belt as a lesson for all.

Like a frantically drowning man clutching at straws, I repeatedly slap my pockets and chest looking pleadingly at the policeman (who by now is wishing he had shot me earlier) as if to say, "what do you want me to do? tell me? PLEEAAASSSEEE...... then I realise something is in my pocket!!! I slip my hand in and lo and behold... its a packet of foil covered gum!!! This time my passage through the machine is received with a deafening silence and I imagine the crowd behind me clapping and cheering, beating steel drums and throwing streamers. I'm so happy at this stage that I fail to realise what a sight I must look. Carrying bags, a belt, boots, skipping to the check-in barefoot with my trousers halfway down my ass.

Well. I'm so glad that ordeal is over. I queue up for check-in. When my turn arrives, I lean up against the counter and the lady comes up with the immortal "Did you pack these bags yourself sir?", what the hell is that supposed to mean? "Why?" I reply "Dont you like the way I fold my shirts?". What the hell is she expecting me to say?

Anyway, she asks me where I'd like to sit "Sir? window or aisle?" (now let me digress here... I have been waiting for the check in staff to ask me this question in this way for years so I can use my funny response. But for years all I get is "Where would you like to sit Sir?" or the equally destructive "Do you want a window or aisle seat Sir?" but never the elusive "Sir? window or aisle?" but on this occasion I got it.. after years of yearning my patience has paid off, it was suddenly presented to me like John the Baptists head to Herods wife, I got it), taking this opportunity, I responded "Window or you will what?" (now, in my head, over the years I have envisaged this scenario and how perfect it would be, like a bride dreams about her wedding. In my case, my response causes complete pandamonium. the check in girl bursts into uncontrollable laughter, everyone around bursts into fits of giggles and guffaws with people rolling about on the floor, sides splitting in every direction, a brass band appears playing "for he's a jolly good fellow" as a crowd gathers to lift me on its shoulders while they run around the airport, a huge beaming smile on my face as I wave to the masses and people try to touch me as I am carried past)

"I beg your pardon Sir?" with a blank stare, is all I get. Now at this point, any normal person would cut their losses and pretend they weren't trying to crack a lame joke. Gratified that no further embarrassment was on offer. Me? Nooooo sireee. I have the bollocks to actually repeat "Window or you'll what?" at the same time grinning inanely at passengers around me in a "stupid cow, she doesn't get it" sort of way as if we were all part of some exclusive club in which she wasn't included.

Now it's a weird feeling, I know how Einstein must have felt, to be surrounded by people who don't understand you' don't appreciate your brilliance. The silence and sea of blank faces only reinforced the belief that I am special.

Suddenly, I hear a giggle, then a cackle, then an infectious wave of laughter. My faith in human nature and the power of comedy restored once more. Why was I so quick to judge my fellow human beings, so quick to condescend their intelligence and their appreciation of my obvious wit. As the laughter rose to a cresendo, I smiled inwardly to myself, bowed my head, humbled by their admiration and saw that my trousers had fallen down to my ankles.