#stuffed

I did have surprising success with my search for citrus.
Managed to get a separate outfit for every day of my week long Balinese getaway.
Sticking to the citrus theme in at least one garment per ensemble.
No mean feat in the UK.
This did, however, pose some problems when I left the country.
Not the colour of the garments.
Clearly there is no embargo on the exportation of a fruity shade.
But the weight of that summer fabric sure does add up.
Etihad economy class allows for 23kg of check in.
And 7 kg of carry on.
After queuing for an hour to check in I schlepped my luggage onto the scales.
And was told by extremely unfriendly ground staff member that I would have to re-pack.
Obviously she had no appreciation of fashion.
I was wishing I'd gone to the faggot at the next counter. 
"You'll have to go over to the re-packing area and put some of your clothes into your carry-on."
Big sigh.
Big flick of imaginary hair.
"Well I'm not queuing again".
"I'm afraid you'll have to".
Another big sigh.
Another big flick of imaginary hair.
"Can't I just pay?"
"Yes, you can pay."
"How much?"
"29 pounds per kilo."
Biggest sigh yet.
And you should have seen the flick of imaginary hair.
"Well I'll re-pack. But I'm not queuing again".
"I'm afraid you will have to."
"Well I'm not moving then."
Her to turn to sigh.
And flick her very real hair.
Was quite impressive.
Almost worked as I almost relented.
But I stood my ground.
And in the end she relented.
So I stomped away and re-packed.
Pushed to the front of the queue.
To be then told that now my carry-on was too heavy.
"How much carry-on am I allowed?"
"7kg".
"And how much do I have?"
"10kg. You'll need to put 3 kg back into your check-in."
Fuck.
"What about all the fat people?" I asked.
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
"The fat people. I mean look at that heifer over there." 
I gestured towards a woman who looked like she'd gotten lost on the way to the Jerry Springer show.
"She's gotta weigh at least 100kg. I only weigh 65!"
"It has nothing to do with fatness, sir".
"Well I think it does. You should just give people a total weight allowance for the person and their luggage. I take up so much less space than her. You should charge fat people for being overweight!"
At this point the check-in woman started to look a little scared.
I saw in her eyes the very second she had decided that I must be psychotic.
She just backed right down.
And let me re-pack at the counter.
Which I did.
In silence.
But with a scowl.
Weight evenly distributed by the end.
Me and my luggage were separated.
I always feel a little paing of guilt at the thought of my poor clothes having to travel alone in the dark.
But my sorrow for myself at having undergone this ordeal overrode all concerns for my temporarily abandoned fashion.
So again I stomped away haughtily.
Without a word.
Stopping only to cast menacing look at @overweight_passenger.


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