Wondering about Wanderlust

Due to an unforseen circumstance, a scheduling problem and, well, greed, I’ve had to travel to 3 states in a week. This is after not travelling for about 18 months. The last leg of that whirlwind tour im on now, and it’s 2 weeks in a hotel in Sydney doing a freelance job. I’ll admit I was looking forward to it, actually rather excited. Then, all it took  was my first step into the Airport for my festering hatred of travel to return. As I’ve mentioned before, I travelled for nearly 20 years, all over Australia and some international and it’s not the soothing picnic non-travellers imagine it to be.

Lets start at the airport. I’m a frequent flyer, high up, so you’d think I get special treatment. Well not anymore. I arrived to discover that the cancer of self check-in had arrived at Brisbane. Now figure this out, they have the same number of people “helping” you use the self check-in as they had manning (sorry “peopleing”) the counters.. WTF.. come on. It’s such a great system you stand there while the old guy in front of you scratches his balls waiting for help because he can’t figure out to press the “1 bag only” button.. Fucktard! And putting the baggage tag on obviously requires a special skill set and intense training, as they have “helpful” staff (generally an oxymoron when it comes to QANTAS) there to show you how to peel it back and then insert it in your baggage. I shit you not this is fair dinkum! I was about to show them where i’d LOVE to insert it. More time wasted while I was given an intense training session, my 3rd in a week. They should at least give you a fucking certificate so you can avoid the demo next time!

So at this point im getting cranky, how me really. Next onto bag scanning and the cowboy cops who act as security guards. OMG what a fucking shifty bunch they are. My bag goes through and because i’m running late the “pretend” security guard decides to pull EVERYTHING out of my bag. Bitch! We had a stand up argument, me trying to tell her what the problem was and her nearly pulling a fucking gun on me because she insisted on empying my bag herself, after i told her to fuck off i’d do it. What the hell gives them the right to handle my shit! Ok I didnt tell her to fuck off… in the beginning. Then of course the bomb residue scan, yes you guessed it because im so fucking shifty looking they always stop me (or its my back pack), then they do their speel, “You have been chosen at random” at that point i cut them off and go, “Dude do you understand statistics, it isn’t random when i get picked EVERY FUCKING TIME!!”

Ok so now i’m not only cranky i’m fucking angry and still running late. Up to the Qantas club, yes at least I still have that for free. And luckily its free. I try to upgrade to a business seat, “no sorry all full”. Ok, fair enough, “can I get a seat closer to the front than sharing the back kitchen with the flight attendants”. “No, sorrrrryyyy”.. said with such sincerity. Ok, fuck it at least i’ll have a bite to eat.. oh dear the lounge is full of fat guys in suits, never a good sign. As soon as the lunch plates come out they swarm like flies to fresh shit. Right i’ll give that a miss, I don’t fancy getting trampled, it’ll be hot pies and Mascot 08 all over again.. shudder!

The rest was pretty uneventful, well except the flight attendant I had a fight with because she felt it was ok to push my bag with a $4000 laptop to the back of the locker to fit some arsehole’s oversized bag in, and the fat guy next to me in the middle seat who obviously couldn’t afford soap or deodorant after eating enough to make him 2 sizes too fucking big for the seat!

OH and the woman behind me with the little bundle of love screaming its lungs out on take off and landing, despite 3 of us telling her to let the little shitting machine chew its dummy so it could avoid the ear pain from the pressure change. Yes Madame I know you can do whatever you want with the fruit of your loins, but the rest of us have a right to enjoy HEARING when we land!

Then I arrive and my next FAVOURITE part of travelling.. cab drivers. There is a whole blog just in my cab driver stories, but for now this thought.. I often wonder why they decide to have a fucking garlic/chilli feast before they go on shift then close the windows in the cab and turn off the air con so it ferments to a nice rancid odor by the time you get in.There’s a smell you will never forget, it manages to stay in your clothing for a week!

Now a helpful cabbie tip.. this is Sydney so you need to keep directions simple.. Hilton, George Street, now, you drive, I pay. Generally that will get you somewhere close to where you need to go, make sure you emphasis the pay word very clearly.

And here is the end of the tale.. the bright shinning light, after all my travelling there is only ONE hotel I will stay at in Sydney. The Hilton. I get accused of being a snob etc, meh, after the shit hole hotels i’ve stayed in.. it’s like water off a ducks back. For the  job i’m on now it was a condition of the deal that I stay at the Hilton. Really. So why?.. well its simple. The staff are second to none, they are friendly, efficient and helpful.  They remember you, it’s like going home every time I come here. The rooms are spectacular, because of the number of times I’ve been here i get a fancy upgraded room, because THEY GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THEIR REGULARS. Listen up Sheraton you tight arseholes! Plus the location is right in the heart of town so when you finish an edit at midnight or 2am, you can still get a feed or a nice soothing ale. You can’t beat those luxuries.

You know sadly after this job is done and i’m back running my business for a few months, i’m going to be pinning for a quick trip to say Melbourne, I think that says a lot about the self abuse component of my personality! Keep an eye out there will be more travel blogs to come.. trust me on that one.

Fleshy

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