RACHEL'S COLUMNS

These articles appeared in Rachel's column every Friday in the A3 section of The Age

Midair thrills and spills - grouse when it's coffee
22nd October 2004

I haven't entered into any contract with Richard Branson, nor do I find his broad entrepreneurial grin or the swashbuckling dagger-shaped beard alluring-but his Virgin crews' enthusiasm radiates so much fizz it makes my nose itch. I'm not easily seduced and thus it was with serious misgivings that I boarded the Virgin Blue flight. The saying goes "you get what you pay for" and we did. It was no more or no less than you'd want from an airline. We got on the plane, it took off, we flew until we reached our destination, the plane landed on the tarmac and we said goodbye. But unlike other airlines I've flown with, I had no expectations and thus I was unknowingly but not unwillingly, seduced.

Waiting in the queue to check in, I was squeezed between a group of adolescent girls tingling with the excitement of an interstate diving competition and a bunch of blokes from a suburban footy team. By the time I reached the counter I was wild-eyed and almost blue in the face. The coiffeured blonde behind the desk allocated an emergency seat with extra legroom before I got a chance to make the request. I'm certain it was to protect the other passengers from me, rather than the other way round. Virgin Blue flights are the bubble and squeak of air-travel – a planeload of diversity. There'll be senior citizens making a trip they may otherwise not be able to afford or slick, shaven-headed advertising types wearing loud T-shirts and nodding rhythmically to head-sets and busloads of students.

Richard's fantasy of never growing old is embodied in every detail-the uniforms, the in-flight snacks if you want them and most incredibly in the attitude of the crew. It's all about having fun. There's no being pretentious with the menu or wine-list and no matter how block-headed a passenger is, these kids never react like the angry parent but more like a protective older sibling. It was when Kathy – the petite brunette whose grin would unclog any blockage – asked me to put my bag in the locker above my head, that I saw the guy fumbling down the aisle struggling with a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee.

I repeated an ancient mantra several times under my breath, "keep away you idiot, keep away you idiot" and stared at him the way psychics do when they're talking to the dead. He was wearing glasses so thick with dandruff they looked like two snow-domes in the middle of his face and he probably couldn't see me. But he continued towards me – negotiating the tiny space, the coffee in his right hand and a heavy backpack swinging on his left arm.

Predictably he stumbled into the row of seats behind me and spilled his coffee over the aisle seat. He'd been allocated the window seat. In less time than it takes to say, "warning – dumb palooka on board" his wife arrived, also carrying a cup of coffee and a huge tote bag stuffed with a hideous furry toy – possibly their offspring. "Spilt the coffee, didja sweetie?" She asked, surprised. No response. She parked herself in the middle seat and tried wiping the sopping aisle seat with a scrap of tissue. Mr. Aisle-seat arrived – one of the footy guys – and stared into space helpless as to what to do. I alerted Kathy and she was back quick as a flash with a chux, still grinning and re-assuring The Palookas that they weren't every passenger's worst nightmare.

Finally, aisle-seat man sat down for take-off. But as soon as we were airborne, the missus leaned forward TO GET HER NAIL POLISH OUT OF HER HANDBAG and poured the remainder of her coffee into aisle-seat-man's lap. Kathy sprang into action but it was too late, his jeans had soaked up the coffee and his mates, still drunk from the night before, were weeping with laughter. As aisle-seat man waddled to the toilet to save his scrotum, Kathy, still smiling, wiped the seat down again.

When we landed I offered aisle-seat man my commiserations. "It's OK mate," he said. "By the time this weekend's over the smell of coffee will be grouse compared to the other spills I'll have all over me." Who needs extras?