Trust the only two Africans on a flight to Greece to be the last to arrive on the plane, having to ward off evil stares and silent jeers from a disapproving cabin crew, both pilots and almost all the passengers. Yes, we were late for an evening flight that we had known about for weeks, and trust me, the drama associated with being late for an international flight is enough for me to make sure that I NEVER repeat this grave mistake. The cause was the classic mistake of overestimating how much time you have, like the kid who lives around the corner from school but always manages to be late. But in our defence, we were coming from the Vaal, which is an hour away from Johannesburg and one and half hours from the airport. We arrived at the airport at 18.06 for a 19.40 flight and thinking that we had more than enough time, we decided to go and wrap our suitcases. While standing in the suitcase wrap queue, something told me that I should at least go and alert the check in people that we have arrived (as if we’re celebrities). Before I could explain why our bags were not with me, the peeved and distressed terminal lady growled “You’re very very late, boarding closes in 5 minutes, and we’re only waiting for you”. I ran back to Palesa to tell her to forget the wrapping and run to counter 79. We were coming from counter number 28. As we whizzed past queues and queues of travellers, we were followed by domino effect like stares from tourist and locals who were simply floored by Palesa’s hairstyle and our general demeanour nje!
On arrival at 79, we offloaded 4 gargantuan suitcases, silently hoping that they would not charge us extra for the 50 or so Kilograms that were over our allowance. In our dreams! The peeved Greek lady was now fuming at not only our disrespect for punctuality, but at the fact that we dared think that we could get away with 47Kg of extra luggage. They told us to go to some office where they would calculate the damage in Rands, and we were nothing short of flabbergasted at the R8871 it would cost us to take our entire luggage. I started sweating; especially after one of the guys said if we can’t pay then we’d have to leave two days later because we’re holding up the flight. We obviously were not going to pay that much money and had to think very quickly. If I was not travelling with a fashion designer and if we weren’t going to sell clothes there, I wouldn’t have made the decision I decided to make.
I had to be the sacrificial lamb and leave my entire suitcase at the airport. Two of the suitcases had the range we were going to show, the other had the clothes we were going to sell (and live from while we were there) and the other was Palesa’s bag with hundreds of designer pieces and important documents! So there we were, all over the floor of that particular counter, unpacking the essentials out of my bag: shoes, toiletries, favourite pieces, underwear, sunglasses and loading them into a Clive Rundle canvas bag that is essentially not more than a beach bag! This while ticking clocks in the form of a crew of Olympic Airlines were gawking at us and shaking their heads in disapproval. Following the luggage transferral, I had to sprint to another floor aka the Airport underworld where no prepared people ever have to venture into. This is the “lovely” place I’d have to store my useless suitcase for 8 days. As dingy as the place was, the process was relatively painless and so began the sprint back to counter 79. I had 9 minutes to get there before boarding closed. A very kind and physically well “rounded” Olympic Airlines attended agreed to accompany me to the underworld but the pace of things got the better of her and I forgot that I’d come with her as I sprinted up stairs and escalators with my dress tucked firmly into my knickers.
By the time I arrived at 79, I had to take some luggage that was too heavy for Palesa to carry, meet her on the other side and go through a firing line of airport army people who were passing us like batons from one to the other, all in an effort to make sure we made it to the flight on time. We finally made it onto the flight and were met by a sea of white faces that were juuust not impressed. We couldn’t even try to blend in because we were sticking out like swollen thumbs thanks to our elaborate outfits, glasses, hair and audible panting.
Needless to say, we waited a further 30 minutes before we took off, then I realised I’d left my bikinis, make up bag and treasured shoes and accessories in the airport underworld. By the time the most amazing aeroplane food I’ve ever tasted arrived, I realised that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I’d have a damn good story to tell my children. And more importantly, this was an excuse for me over indulge in some holiday shopping!
