The flight is already late by 2 hours. We are told that the flight has just arrived from Rome and is being prepared in the hangar for its next leg. So it is another hour to kill at the terminal. It is already past lunch time, and the mini lunch I had gulped more than two hours ago has already been forgotten. And the gate is crowded with people whose faces and expressions have become way too familiar to hold any more interest for me.
Thankfully, there is a small food court right in front of the gate. I grab an overpriced and cold sandwich, take a table very close to the bar counter facing the gate, and start looking around for unfamiliar faces to observe. Even the sandwich is way too familiar to look at it -- it can make its way into my tummy without my supervision.
As I sit there, two ladies, one around 50 years, and the other, apparently the mom, whose very wrinkled skin and slow gait revealed she must be at least about 75, walk up to the bar. A couple of minutes later, the bartender shows up. I can't hear the conversation clearly enough, but I can make out that ladies ordered drinks. Now, if you have ever been asked to show your ID when buying alcohol, or even over-the-counter medicines that induce drowsiness, and have felt flattered, think again. If there is one thing this world is never going to run out of, it is 'idiots.' Don't get flattered by their actions!
So, anyway, the bartender, the most law-abiding citizen there is, asks the ladies to show him the proof that they are above drinking age. They pull out of their purses what appeared to be passports from an European country, the bartender inspects them, and satisfied, goes back, does his thing, and brings back two glasses full of what looked like Gin and Tonic. Nice, I thought. The old ladies haven't allowed age to end their small indulgences.
And how! The older lady, with the glass in her hand, walks up slowly to the trash can close to my table, dips her wrinkly fingers into the drink, and starts pulling out ice and dumping it into the trash can. Yeah, ice is really bad for her sensitive teeth/denture. And it should never be allowed to spoil the taste of alcohol.
An hour passes by comfortably. And I board the plane. It is crowded. Everybody settles in their seat eagerly waiting for the take off.
And then comes the announcement. There is some problem with the brake. They said they saw smoke coming out from around the wheels (but didn't bother to ask us not to board while they fixed it!), and the mechanics were working on it. The most useful information they gave us: They had no idea how long it would take to fix it but would like us to remain seated.
Eventually the plane takes off after another 45 minutes. The weather is looking great, and the plane is flying smooth. Absolutely no turbulence. But the only thought running in my mind is, "I don't care as long as the plane is in the air, but will the brakes work when it hits the runway?" The software engineer in me is yelling "these new brakes haven't been tested yet!"
Apparently, it wasn't needed. Those brakes are not like software written by 'engineers' with made up resumes, you know.
(Drafted the day the above incident took place, over a month ago, but posting now)
