Time Is of the Essence
“On behalf of Azul Airlines and the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip…”
Here it comes. One of mankind’s most intriguing ceremonial displays: the post flight rush. Also known as the sudden desire to get the fuck off the plane as fast as humanly possible. The anticipation for the switching of the fasten seatbelt sign provoking primal reactions, triggering false starts to the despair of the cabin crew. It’s as if the captain decided to have some last minute cheeky fun after a hard day’s work, “Hi there folks, this is your captain speaking… the seats are lava!”. What ensues is a display of pure homo sapiens instinct. It’s survival of the quickest. I sit there wondering what awaits all these time deprived people as they stand, waiting. Standing. And waiting. The dude in the smart casual attire that pops up first is surely on a connection, judging by the mix of panic and raw fear set deep into his eyes. The cute girl with the freckly cheeks and headphones that swallow up her ears has clearly had enough of being contained inside this metal box, using her dancing stance to convey it to the rest of us. The fellow next to her “stands” uncomfortably curved under the overhead compartment in what looks like a yoga pose gone awfully wrong (or awfully right, I can never tell). The sunburnt couple that fetches their carryons quicker than it takes the flight attendants to unbuckle look like they’ve forgotten Macaulay Culkin again, and are hurrying back home with worried looks on their lobster hued faces…
“All set?”, the guy sitting next to me asks, glancing towards the empty aisle.
“Ah yes, sorry, it’s been a long day”, I make up. It hadn’t been a long day. It just sounds better than “Sorry, I have a tendency to live in a parallel universe”.
I make my way out of the plane and across the terminal, down a flight of stairs, and over to carrousel five. There is (almost) everyone again. Standing. And waiting.