Still in fucking Mumbai

Everything was going well until they refused my ticket.
"No sir. Your ticket is for the 10th of June."
"Yes," I replied happily, "but it's been changed to today."
"That's not possible sir. See. It says here 10th of June."

I took a deep breathe.

"Yes. I know that's what it says, but it has been changed. Two weeks ago, and the BMI (British Midlands) office here verified it this afternoon."
"No. Sir. That's not possible."

Do you know that nagging feeling you sometimes get when you feel a slight rage coming on?
I stormed off to the BMI office, got another verification and went back in line.
Now somebody was trying to rip off the white chord they'd tied around my luggage.
I pulled the bag from them and said: "Touch it and die sonny boy." He left my bag alone.

"No sir. It definately states the 10th of June."
Exasperated I said: "I KNOW WHAT IT BLOODY SAYS. IT'S BEEN CHANGED THOUGH!"
And then the attendent did something that you shouldn't do to someone who's in the beginning stages of rage. He pointed a finger at me and touched my chest.
"Touch me again and I'll rip your head off and shit down your neck." was my curtious reply.

"Sir, if you do not leave the line I'll be forced to get security." He said as boldly as someone who's just been threatened with neck faeces can.
"GET YOUR FUCKING SECURITY THEN!" I shouted.
Then some other attendent tried to pull me out of the que.
"Leave me alone. I'll rip your fucking limbs off and stuff them up his arse!" I said, pushing the puller off me and pointing to the man who's neck's well being was in doubt.
"But sir. Your ticket sa...."
"I KNOW WHAT IT FUCKING SAYS. IT'S BEEN CHANGED AND I'M GETTIN' ON THIS FUCKING PLANE!."

Then the security arrived. Four men in drab grey with machine guns.
"Oh. It's the fucking cavalry is it?"
"Please come with us sir."
"Fuck you and your sister."

It may be obvious at this moment in time that I'd somewhat lost all control, patience and a Darth-like dark-side was creeping into my well being.

"Sir, don't speak to me like that."
"I'll speak to whoever, whenever and however I like. So fuck your mother too."
This, I have to admit, did not go down too well and two machine guns were pointed at me.
"Come with us."
What does one do in a situation like that? All I could do really: "Go fuck yourself. I'm gettin' on this plane."
"Sir, the airport manager would like to speak to you."

See. This was a very smart move. Calming me down and getting me to talk to the man in charge.
So, I followed them to the managers office and a short, plump man sat down opposite me and said: "We don't like your behaviour."
"I don't like you. You're security and your fucking bureaucracy. Do you hear me complain?"
(If he read my blog, which is highly unlikely, he probably would have).

"Now sir, I've checked your ticket and you are right. You have a right to board this plane."
"Told you I was fucking right."
"But the captain of the plane refuses to take you on board."
I just stared.
"Your behaviour is too violent. You will have to wait until tomorrow and arrange a new ticket."

End of discussion. Machine guns were put away and I was cast out into the airport like Tom Hanks in a bad movie.

My last act of defiance though was to lay down my bags in the middle of the airport's main hall, unroll my blanket and go to sleep.
Some security guard woke me up during the night saying: "You can't sleep here sir."
And I answered: "I can if you don't want me to rip your testicles off."
Nobody troubled me again that night.

Hopefully I'll get on a plane tonight.

And in case anybody is interested in yesterday's joke of a post (but probably not), all the songs mentioned were sung by people who died in plane crashes and all the names mentioned died in plane crashes too.