Travel Nightmares Competition - Win $50
I started a section on the site titled “Travel Nightmares” The idea behind this is to get people to submit their stories of traveling away from home that didn’t go as planned. I wrote the first travel nightmare story titled “Are we on the right bus?”
I’ve not had any people submit a story yet, maybe because not many visitors venture out away from my blog, so therefore I have decided to move this section to the blog and kick start it with a competition.
The first 5 submitted travel nightmare stories submitted in the comments will enter into a poll. Readers who have previously commented on the blog can vote on who they think should win a $50 Amazon voucher!
I’ll move the story from the comments to an actual blog post, including a link to the authors site.
I come up with this idea as I felt bad not up-dating my blog over the last few days. I actually felt a little guilty as I know some family in the UK do enjoy reading what I’m getting up to. Looking back, I should have had some blog posts lined up on a timer, like I set up on my other blog, to keep the consistency of my blog posts. The only problem was that I didn’t have time to write the posts! Starting the Travel Nightmares section will hopefully provide me user generated content I can use when I’m unable to post! This is worth thinking about if you run a blog and sometimes are unable to write posts on a daily basis.
[…] Everyone still has a chance of winning a $50 amazon voucher in my Travel Nightmares project. […]
Precious
This is a story of poor parenting. And travel. Combined. Everyone has one, this is mine.
I woke up the morning after my (beloved) grandmother’s funeral with a horrible sore throat, and the knowledge that I had a 13 hours of flight time to deal with that day. The first flight went smoothly enough, although I may have exceeded the recommended dose of Strepsils in the dry air of the plane.
Only 10 more hours to go. Then a birthday dinner with the in-laws. Then home to bed.
I found my seat on the packed KLM plane, middle of the middle - you don’t get a lot of choice booking last minute bereavement fares. Fine. The family in front seem alright, a couple with an older daughter and an angelic looking little boy. Three people should be able to handle him. The baby behind was a bit worrying though since I was hoping for some oblivion and everyone knows they often have painful earaches due to the pressure changes. So we seemed to be in the daycare area but hey, you’ve got a seat-sized area all to yourself right? And headphones.
Settle in. Attempt a smile at the lady sitting next to me. Fail.
Well, the baby is asleep and the kids a few rows over (three with a single parent) are happily colouring with crayons provided by the airline. The little guy in front wants to play peek-a-boo. Ok, sure, not his fault i’m feeling sad and crappy. There’s a few minutes before the plane leaves and after that he’ll be strapped into his seat no doubt. I notice in passing he’s just tall enough to reach the top of the seat and pull himself up on it. I notice it even more in the cramped quarters when his head is about a foot from mine. Well, we’ll be on our way soon.
Examine rapidly diminishing supply of strepsils. Try to swallow unaided. Fail.
Finally, we’re in the air. Tired of peek-a-boo I’m relieved when the beverages come around, that is, until the parents order a coke for the little one. And booze for themselves. Crap.
This, in my humble opinion, is not the ideal implementation of community parenting.
And then they hand him some bread. Picture this, you are in the middle middle seat of a cramped plane. This leaves you no room to move sideways and precious little forward or back. A small blond head appears over the top of the back of the, now reclined, seat in front of you. The mouth is moving, chewing, a hand holding a lump of baguette, and crumbs are flying everywhere as the tyke joyously waves it about. In my hair, on my clothes, in my drink, and then…the chewing stops. A few pieces of masticated bread escape his slack mouth and you can only watch in horror as they land on your tray, narrowly missing your hand. I swear I saw it in slow motion disbelief. And then the drooling starts. At this point I begin to question whether in fact we are dealing with a ‘special needs’ individual. I also begin to wonder if my slightly immuno-compromised self might be better off switching seats. I look up at the beaming face inching its way closer and closer to me and ring the stewardess. He sneezes in my face, eliciting a ‘bless you precious’ from his mother. I don’t care now if they hear me ask to move. But as bad-luck would have it the plane is completely full, even the stewardess seats are taken. And it’s not like I have a desirable seat to trade. Nope this is it. Okay, time to appeal to the parents. Could you…? With a faintly indignant look, the mother sits him down in the seat, while the father looks on helplessly. It takes about 4 seconds for the head to reappear. Great. I try to look at the mother but she has her eyes closed.
The woman next to me gives me a sympathetic look and tries in vain to distract the little bastard from his attempt to grab my face. She asks what we were doing in Europe and gives her condolences, but strangely makes me no offer to switch seats. Little wonder.
The first meals arrive. The terror screams when his sister tries to get him to sit in his seat to eat. Nope, he’d rather ‘share’ his half chewed food with me. The father looks embarrassed and does nothing, the mom sees no problem since surely I must be enjoying the attentions of her little angel. Meanwhile I open out an unused barf bag and use it as a protective cover over my food - not easy eating but at least there is less stranger spit in it. I give up pretty early on. Have a strepsil. Count three remaining with about 8.5 hours to go. Notice that the parents have ordered more coke for him. There ought to be a law.
The sugar crash comes in a fit of wailing. But no rest for the weary. Nope, how about some more coke instead of a nap? By the middle of the second meal my father, restrained paragon of patience that he is, had had enough. I insist that I wasn’t going to eat that anyway but he’s made up his mind to have a wee word with the parents. And by ‘a wee word’ that’s exactly what I mean, polite but perhaps in a less-friendly tone than previous requests to keep their son from hanging over my seat dribbling. “It’s not his fault” is the shrill reply. I couldn’t agree more…it’s clearly yours. “What, do you think I should do, have him put down?” Huh? Where did that come from? Maybe because he’s ‘special?’ Is that the only other way she can think of dealing with this situation? If so I can see where he gets it from. We give up and I spend the rest of the flight contemplating the possible consequences of me spitting in their food. I think it may be an assault charge and don’t want to rely on them to see how that would only be fair.
The horrid monster finally does doze off about 10 minutes before the plane lands. The mother comments to the legions of adoring fans in the vicinity “Wouldn’t you know, right before the plane lands”. This wakes him up. I would like to politely inform her that caffeine has certain well-known side effects that she may be well-advised to consider in future. I do not. I’m home. Thank Strepsils.
Disclaimer: I am not a child-hater. I do not wish to ban children from planes. I do wish however that those parents who take a ‘kids-will-be-kids’ attitude to any discomfort their child inflicts on others, particularly in confined spaces, would be slightly more willing to take responsibility for limiting that impact.