The Finger

Heathrow. The cabin crew officer is sarky over the PA. “I’m afraid folks that there’s a problem with the ‘finger’ and staff here are arranging for some stairs to be brought to the aircraft. Nothing against Heathrow, but this could take some time.”
He is shirty, he wants to get out of this foul aluminium tube, scattered with refuse and filled with sleep-breath and into a gleaming white shower.
The Scottish man who has sat behind me for the last twelve hours explains to his daughter that the ‘finger’ is the stretchy walkway that clamps onto the side of the plane. I am quietly thankful for this information also. They are standing in the aisles waiting, clasping their cabin baggage.
“Sorry ladies and gentlemen, still no sign of the stairs out there, I’d advise you to sit back down and wait, who knows how long it is going to be? We apologise, but this is something Heathrow needs to look at.”
I think how delightful it is to apportion blame to someone else. It is a skill learnt as early as pointing to your sibling and saying “it’s her fault”.

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One Response to “The Finger”

  1. Miss Helen Says:

    Well, you know which finger I would have given them! xo

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