I am not in Greece right now, nursing a glass of rose while my daughter frolics on the beach. I am sat in slightly chilly hotel room, ten minutes from Gatwick airport, gradually recovering from the horror of this morning.
We were on time. All was well. We’d gone to pret, had some porridge, it was 430am, but who cares, we were off to GREECE, baby!
I have a little pootle around the shops, come back and DH says he’s gonna pop to WH Smith with DD. I’m like yeah, cool.
Then, I wait. Then wait some more. I’m beginning to feel alarmed as it’s 530 and our flight’s at 5.55.
Can’t see em. I call his various phones (man’s got more phones than a drug dealer) and can’t get through (though not a good one).
Then, I see them like distant specks in the flow of airport humanity.
I’m like WTF dude, we are gonna be late!
Look at the board with alarm to see our destinations isn’t there 🤔
Grab some guy with a lanyard and beg him to tell me which gate to go to - he’s nice, starts fiddling with his phone (probably a little frightened). His internet won’t connect.
A cold sweat is beginning to form - we run to the information kiosk where an overweight blonde lady is asking a making an inquiry about the vegan options on her flight.
She can see by the crazed look on my face that now is a good time to step aside.
The easyJet lady gives it to me straight: you’ve missed the flight - the gate closed five minutes ago.
But she gives me the gate number! 🙌
And I live in a beautiful place called Triumphant Denial - so I shout DH and jog heavily, lugging DD in ever more uncomfortable positions. Out of my way folks, we have a plane to catch 🙋🏻♀️
We finally get there and i see the EasyJet lady and I beg - implore her - to let us on the flight, tears filling my eyes.
She has no idea what the hell im talking about - she just got here and she’s opening the gate for the next flight.
The penny is dropping through the air... and thud. We have missed the goddamn flight. I look at DH all ready to lose my shit, but you know what - losing my shit isn’t going to magically transport us to Thessaloniki. My rage is an awesome thing, but it doesn’t propel me though the sky - I KNOW THIS.
So we trudge back up to the information kiosk and EasyJet lady is sat there looking at us with a mixture of mild derision and pity - the pity was the WORST. We sit there waiting to be taking back through security, looking like the most miserable, unhappy, opposite-of-holiday-makers gang you could imagine. Like, hmmm I don’t think I wanna get on a plane with those weirdos, they literally look suicidal.
We are joined the other idiots who somehow managed to miss their flights WHILE IN THE AIRPORT. No one’s making eye contact.
We rebook our flights for tomorrow and agree that waking up at 2am in woodford is too ground hog day for words and besides we are TIRED.
So here I am, listening to DD gently snore and recording the tale of our epic idiocy, trying to get DH to pore through the travel insurance to see if here is any way we can somehow recoup the £400 we’ve spent on this almighty screw up. He says that there’s no insurance for being an idiot.
But hope springs eternal.
You know what is REALLY annoying about this whole fiasco? He didn’t even BUY the thing he was queuing for, cause he got tired of waiting.