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Today was not a good day.

It all started early on this Tuesday morning.
As we did our check-out, the girl behind the desk suddenly broke into tears. I was convinced it was because she had a crush on either Bene or me (or both), but Bene insists that it is not necessarily related to my charms. First blow of the day. I am always disappointed if the receptionist does not cry on account of my charms.

We had mentally prepared for a feast of a breakfast at our favourite breakfast place, in the Tibetan quarters. A western breakfast, I am ashamed to say, but if you saw the poor excuses they eat for breakfast, you would understand (mainly, what they describe as congee, I call old rice with a lot of sugary water).

Not a very good day indeed

Degrubenc
2006-08-12 15:12:58

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having never seen a red devil before.

After a good five minutes of barking at the nincompoops, I take my bags and march forcefully to the VIP rooms. No one dares stand in my way. As I arrive in the VIP rooms, there is no one manning the bar, I go behind it and help myself. The delegation of managers make an approach to come and see me. They are pushing in front of them a scapegoat of a cleaner or someone in case I should start throwing bottles of whiskey. I tell them calmly that I want to speak to the security manager and that I am not leaving until it is done.

They retreat, only too grateful at getting away with it. 10 minutes later, the airport manager appears, all smiles, with cups of tea, baskets of fruits and all sorts of other things in his arms. He is followed by a sheepish woman, with medals hanging to her knees. I thank the manager, throw him out of the VIP room, lock the door, turn around the woman a couple of times, inspecting her. She is visibly shaking (god knows what the party has told her about foreigners), take her ID hanging from her top left hand pocket, calmly sit down and copy it (or at least make a show of it, as it is all in Chinese). It worked: she breaks down and begs for my pardon; half in Chinese, half in English she keeps repeating that she is sorry. After having made a copy of her pass, I make a show of placing the copy in my wallet, telling her that she is in big trouble. I throw the pass on the table nearby and tell her to leave. I can see through the doors of the VIP room that all the airport staff is listening in, none willing to come to the help of the security manager. I push her physically out of the room and return behind the bar. I feel oddly satisfied and fulfilled. Slightly shaking and surprised at myself but truly satisfied. The Chinese are terrified of me. I do not feel the least bit sorry for them. I hope she has nightmares of gulags and foreign devils for a long time to come.

No one else comes ...