There's appropriate, and then there's this...
So about a week ago I picked up my sister Kate from the airport on her return from a quick trip to Sydney. (My family has a thing about picking up people from the airport. We have to do it. It’s a sickness. The Councillor doesn’t get it at all. He figures that’s why taxis and the AirTrain were invented. We ignore him.)
Anyway, my sisters and I all like flying, and are pretty good travellers. This is largely to do with the fact that sitting on a plane is one of the few times when it is perfectly acceptable to read Who Magazine and drink Diet Coke without feeling as though we should be doing the ironing (me) or writing a best-seller (Kate). So I was surprised to find that Kate was a stabby ball of crankiness when I retrieved her from the airport footpath.
I wasn’t surprised, however, to discover the cause of her stabbiness. Three words:
Carry on baggage.
Not Kate’s hand luggage. Obviously. Because like every member of our family we take the rules of air travel very seriously, and she was only carrying a handbag and laptop satchel.
No, the reason for Kate’s crap demeanour was that every square centimetre of the overhead locker was occupied by green bags (of the recyclable grocery variety), enormous stripey bags (like those seen on Border Security being inspected by Customs Agent Brett) and a guitar.
This meant two things. First, it was apparent that some of Kate’s fellow passengers were breaching the hand luggage guidelines clearly listed on the Jetstar website. Seriously, you could comfortably fit a small hatchback in one of those stripey bags. And unless someone has invented a fold-out guitar, there’s no way it could fit in that metal luggage measuring thingy at the departure gate.
And then there was the fact that Kate had to venture well beyond her row to find space in an overhead locker for her appropriately-sized satchel. By the time she was able to wedge her bag between a vast fake flower arrangement and a David Jones bag carrying what appeared to be a commercial-sized espresso machine, she was so far down the aisle she found herself fighting against the tide of incoming passengers to get back to seat 29A.
I’m totally with Kate on this one. Seriously, what is it about “appropriate” that people don’t get?
NOT carry on baggage
Kate’s experience with inappropriate hand luggage got me thinking about other examples of “inappropriate”.
Cabin baggage isn’t the only issue on which levels of appropriateness are “fluid”. Remember when getting on a plane meant dressing up? At least a bit? At least wearing shoes? I know there’s no longer a whole lot of romance about air travel (the names “Virgin” and “Tiger” don’t help), but there was a time, not too long ago, when people put some thought into their travel wardrobe. I don’t necessarily mean stepping off a plane looking like the Queen on a state visit, but would it kill the travelling public to wear a nice ironed shirt? Maybe a stylish twinset? Think Michelle Obama. And ok, my Dad and air travel are a aneurism-inducing combination, but he wouldn’t consider getting on a plane in less than chinos and a navy reefer jacket. I don’t think blokes necessarily need to wear a jacket, but if you’re going to wear a singlet, it should be worn as underwear. And by that I don’t mean “underwear as outerwear”. PUT A SHIRT ON. And doing it up would be awesome.
When flying, pretend you're on Air Force One
It’s not just air travel where I fear standards and appropriateness have gone into decline.
We went to the races two weeks ago. It was a huge deal, this particular race meeting. The Councillor and I were guests of the Brisbane Racing Club to see a horse called “Black Caviar” which was (and still is) considered the best racehorse in the world.
There were records broken all over the place that day. It was the biggest crowd in the history of the Brisbane Racing Club; Black Caviar won her 13th race out of 13 starts (so my $10 bet paid $10.10 – I am the last of the big punters) and thousands of 19 and 20 year old girls managed to wear so few clothes I feared for their wellbeing. Also, The Councillor kept getting distracted.
Seriously, it was all I could do to stop myself from calling out to these girls “for the love of God, put on a cardigan!” or run up to them with the spare pair of Voodoo pantihose I keep in my handbag.
As my sister Janey would say “It’s the races, not a nightclub”.
No "Fashions on the Field" sashes for these girls
I shall finish this post with my personal favourite example of inappropriate behaviour.
The Councillor and I once went to the movies – it was the old days, before we had kids. Anyway, like regular people we bought a bucket of popcorn the size of a shopping trolley and a couple of soft drinks that should, by rights, last about 3 months. We chose our seats, got comfy, changed seats (what, you don’t do that?), got comfy again, put our phones on mute (see? appropriate) and settled down to watch the shorts. (Because – derr – we were there in plenty of time).
Suddenly and without warning – ‘COS WE WERE IN A FREAKING CINEMA – our sense of smell was assaulted by the unmistakable aroma of a vindaloo. A VINDALOO!! And you know how a curry is always better a day or two after it’s been cooked? Well, this one had been cooked with love at least three days earlier. I am pretty sure they hadn’t used a store-bought curry paste either – there had definitely been a mortar and pestle involved. It was the type of thing that Gary and George would have knocked up on Friday night’s Masterclass with the contestants knocking each other off their stools for a taste.
Appropriate cinema snacks
Less appropriate cinema snacks
They had it all – rice, raita in a little container, and naan. The only thing they didn’t have were the stable tables. If you looked up “inappropriate” in the dictionary, you’d find a picture of this couple having their vindaloo picnic in the back row of Cinema 2 at the Manly Cinemas.
What have you seen that has set off your “inappropriate” radar?
