By Gavin Tyte
Print
Email
All I knew about Australia I had gained from television soap operas; The Young Doctors, The Sullivans, Home and Away, and of course, Neighbours. I knew it was sunny, had a big red rock in the middle, and was infested with over-sized jumping rabbits. My sister had married an Australian and had moved to the continent a few years earlier, and being the dutiful brother, I decided it was time to visit. The thought of going somewhere hot and sunny, famous for its beaches, barbies (not the plastic kind) and Fosters had nothing to do with it. Honest. My gran had left me £1000 and I hoped that these funds would last for six months and enable me to travel, so I obtained a yearlong visa from the Australian embassy in London, booked a flight, and purchased my provisions. These essentials included a backpack, sleeping bag, waterproofs and a map of Australia. I was ready to go.
I turned up at Heathrow airport three hours before I was due to fly, however, when I found my way to the front of the queue at the airline check-in desk, the person behind the desk refused to let me check in. Instead, they made me wait. And so I waited. And waited. And waited. Two hours later, and five minutes before the flight was due to take off, the airline ground staff informed a group of passengers, including me, that they had overbooked the flight and that we had been ‘bumped off’. A simple mistake? Apparently not. One of the airline staff told me that this particular airline – a supposedly reputable airline - regularly overbooks flights by as much as 20%. This means that on a 747 carrying four hundred people, this airline, on occasion, overbooks the flights by as much as forty people. Forty people! On this day all forty had turned up intending to fly, and apparently it was our mistake - we weren't supposed to have turned up. A nice lady from the airline apologised for the inconvenience, gave us each a travellers cheque for $250, put us up in the Post House Hotel near the airport, and told us to turn up the next day. So we all trundled off to the Post House Hotel in search of food and a bed for the night.
I have to admit that I was not best pleased. No one wants to wait around for hours in a crowded airport only to discover that they have to do it all again the next day. How could the airline make such a big mistake? Certainly, if I had been running the airline there is no way that I would make such a mother of all booboos. This was not the start I had in mind for my first lone adventure beyond the British Isles, however, I indulged myself at the airline’s expense at the hotel restaurant, and then again the following day at Heathrow’s executive breakfast lounge. This time I was ready to fly with no hiccups - apart from those gained after stuffing myself with both a continental and full English breakfast, complete with fried kidneys and black pudding. Yum!
I remember little about the flight to Sydney, however, I do remember eagerly studying my map of Australia. Upon arrival, after clearing passport control and customs, I made my way to the public phone booths. Finding my sister’s Melbourne number, I dialled. “Hi Sis, it’s Gav, I’ve arrived! Any chance you can pick me up from the airport?” This request was met with much incredulity and after my sister had entertained her husband and a group of friends that were around her house, having picked herself up from off the floor, she explained that, yes, although Melbourne may well be next to Sydney on my map, it was about a 12-hour drive away! I sheepishly replaced the handset and made my way to the coach terminal.
Life is full of mistakes. Airlines make mistakes, not because they are huge corporate entities that wish to maximise profit at the expense of customer satisfaction, no, they make mistakes because people make mistakes. I make mistakes because I am human. When we look at the life of Jesus, it looks like he made a big mistake. He started his ministry at the age of 30 and by the age of 33 he was hanging, nailed to a Roman cross - a punishment so horrific that Roman citizens were not allowed to be executed in this manner, and within a few decades the Romans had banned it completely. Jesus hung there with the life draining from his body and many of his followers, known as his disciples, had deserted him - some had even disowned him. How had all his teaching about love and acceptance helped him? Where was this God he called ‘Father’ now?
View Comments (0)
|
