Airport Lounges

Airport lounges....A new thing for me really. I got a membership for a card that gets you into some of those lounges that aren’t attached to an airline. In Dubai on a layover. 7 hours down. Another 4 to go. Will be Landing in Bishkek at 4.40 am.

So I am in an Airport Lounge after a trying time at the ticket counter where a snotty guy told me a didn’t have a ticket for the second flight. “ My bag is on it.” I said. “ No it isn’t Madam. Not if you don’t have a ticket.” “ But I have a ticket.” “ No madam, all you have is a ticket for a baggage claim.” “ What do you suggest I do?” I asked. “ Who did you buy the ticket from?” he asked, as if I had got it free with a carton of orange juice. “ A travel agent.” I replied. He shrugged, as if that explained all and everything. I walked away to call my very efficient travel agent in London. I needed the code. My man was still sitting there with shiny hair and his pressed uniform. “ How do I call outside the country? “ I asked. He told me and then as an afterthought asked to see my boarding pass from the first flight. As I was looking for it an Indian man came up beside me yelling something about “ wanting his name and making a complaint.” The snotty guy then says, “ Don’t approach the lady. Why would you approach the lady?” Indian man is still yelling and I think the snotty man says something like “ she is better than you, she is a different level.” Indian man stomps off. Snotty man then becomes very helpful. To me. Angry Indian returns with a wife and son and member of the Emirates staff. They are all pointing at me and saying “ she is no better than him.” Snotty man ignores the Indian man and his family and the manager slides inbetween us to smooth it out. Snotty man then becomes obsequious towards me and claims to have saved the day because he was able to print me a boarding pass. He hands it over with a toothy smile. I say thank you rather unwillingly, and tell him, “ I am not on another level.” I don’t even really know what that means, but I know it’s wrong. He flicks his hand in the direction of the disappearing Indian family as if they could be removed like a fly on a hot day. “ You remind me of Uriah Heep.” I told him. He had no idea what I was talking about and I wasn’t sure why I chose that character. But it seemed appropriate. So I come to the Marhaba lounge and wash my face and have two bowls of carrot soup and a lot of water. And watch people eat plates and plates of square bits of cake. Cake is obviously big here. The temperature outside tonight is 33c/92f. So cake, heat and insulting behaviour. Dubai was never on my bucket list. It hasn’t moved one inch closer. I was sort of happy to get on the plane to Bishkek. On an airline called Fly Dubai.

Or Fly Away from Dubai. Or Fly Away from Uriah.