I haven't blogged since we got home this week, because it's taken me that long to claw my way out of the mass of laundry so that I can once again see the light of day. FFS!?
I have started talking to my clothes line because I'm spending so much time with it. FFS!?
But I (what's the opposite of digress?) forward-gress?
Let me take you back to our flight home for today's FFS-ness.
As you know, #1Hubby came home with the Twin Tornado a few days before the rest of us. No FFS.
He was all kinds of gloaty about scoring row 11 on the plane (we were on heavily discounted tickets, and Garuda seating is allocated based on your fare). It was indeed an impressive feat based on the fare type we'd booked.
The bar had been set.
#1Brother is all about the front of the plane, because getting off the plane that 30 seconds faster than the people in the back rows really matters when you then watch them collect their bags and breeze past you while you're still waiting for yours.
#1Pop is a nervous flyer and hates sitting at the back (where you feel the turbulence more).
Me, I'm all about one-upping #1Hubby, so I was Smuggy McSmuggerson when we scored row 10. It was only one single row closer to the front than where #1Hubby and the Twin Tornado sat, but it was an important victory. No FFS.
I was planning on absorbing the business class opulence by osmosis, thanks to my proximity. Fact.
And then it all turned to shit.
A few things worth noting in our position one single row in front of where #1Hubby had sat days earlier....
Food and drinks service in economy (on that particular plane type/size/layout) starts at row 11. Where #1Hubby had sat, and been served first.
Not to worry, as the front trolley starts at row 5, the first row of economy, with a mere 6 rows to service in total.
The front trolley will always, always take three times as long to serve rows 5-9 as the rear trolley takes to serve the entire rest of the plane, at least 20 rows. FFS!?
By the time the front trolley gets to row 10, all meals are stone cold. FFS!?
We're talking so cold we actually questioned if they'd even been put in the oven at all.
Just how I like my chicken and pasta or beef and noodles. FFS!?
So the dinner was inedible, no worries, there's always dessert and the bread roll and the fruit.
The bread roll was missing. And I'm a sucker for a bread roll. FFS!?
The dessert was....yeah, indescribable.
That's right...even I have no words to attempt to describe it. FFS!?
The melon-based fruit had been squashed. It was closer to a smoothie. FFS!?
Biggest crime of all....there was no red wine! MOFO FFS!?
Well, that's not entirely true. There was, just not on our trolley, and so we were asked to wait.
And wait we did. For almost 2 hours. FFS!?
I know, I know....poor little me, no red wine. I could've had white. I could've had water.
And I would've, if the hostess had come back even once. FFS!?
Even to collect our trays.
Our row was the only single row on the plane to still have food trays (full food trays, on account of the awful and stone cold food) still sitting in front of us after over an hour and a half. FFS!?
Seriously, someone on the other side of the aisle got up to go all the way to the back of the plane to the toilet, and not only was every other row cleared....those bastards were drinking red wine too. FFS!?
It's the first time I've ever experienced a snooty, grumpy flight attendant. And I've travelled quite a lot over the years. It was a complete imposition to request some water or lemonade, in lieu of the 2hrs latent red wine, still to materialise. How dare anyone in our row request a drink to replace the inedible meal, or quench our thirst after 3hrs on the flight. FFS!?
But, seriously, no red wine! FFS!?
Except from row 11 onwards. FFS!?
Which means #1Hubby won, despite my scoring seats 1 row closer to the pointy end. FFS!?