Airport Cinderella

Photo by JESHOOTS.COM on Unsplash

Essay

My wife stands by the airport security check leaning over a queue of trays rolling in front of her. Her rucksack on her shoulder and only half-ready to leave on holiday. Half, because all passengers are dodging her, while she stands there with no shoes, and her socks tapping on the airport floor. Both hands in her dungarees pockets, she looks at me, a few trays down in the queue, and mouth, “What the fuck?“

The X-ray machine spat out her rucksack, her laptop, her denim jacket. But somehow it managed to swallow her shoes and forgot to give them back.

All these summer flyers are dragging around suitcases the size of a house. All packed for one of those me-time holidays in the south of Spain. Barbados. Mexico. Some islands in the Mediterranean they can’t even find on a map. Flip-flops sprouting everywhere and pale faces hiding those high hopes for a memorable holiday. One of those trips to make all your friends jealous back home. Making them frantically scroll over all the photos you’ll be sharing. With you posing with a cocktail glass with too much ice on it. Or stretching a smile so wide to show it was all worth it. Save for the entire year and with a few grand you can afford an all-inclusive resort with swimming pool service and a Jacuzzi in the shape of a heart in bathrooms so big you could host your Christmas dinner in it.

Those resorts could really be anywhere. Because once there you do order the same burger you scoff down at home. Drink the same pale ale you get pissed with at the weekend. Watch the same football matches. Only you’re a couple of time zones away from home, and everything looks more exotic. You never pay for a trip away. You just spend money on the same life elsewhere and your drinks served with an accent.

My wife asks the security guy how can a pair of shoes be swallowed by the X-ray. Should we press some big red button alerting everyone in the airport? Should we call the army or something? The security guy says, “It happens sometimes.” And he moves a few steps forward asking a guy if he could please try to put his belts on somewhere else. A woman with sunglasses the size of a sombrero is blocking the entire queue standing in front of her tray capturing a selfie and posting it somewhere on the internet.

We travelled to the airport three hours early. Because if have to spend the entire flight staring out of the window and squeezing the armrest waiting to land, my wife said we might as well drink a couple of Proseccos first. After this, we’ll probably order the whole bottle.

Then, out of the blue, like an unexpected fart on a bus, a big grey tray rolls out of the X-ray. My wife leans forward and grabs something. She waves it at me, and when I give her a thumb up, she says, “Just one?” She says, “Where the hell is the other shoe?“

My airport cinderella.

This is not as bad as it looks though. If my sister was to cross through the metal detector right now, all lights would start flickering, flashing on everyone’s sunglasses and mobile phones, and all security guards would be over her.

A few months ago, she walked into the gym and after a few minutes an ambulance was waiting outside to bring her out on a stretcher. My sister is no heavyweight lifter or the brave bouldering type. When the paramedics grabbed her, she still had her working clothes on. She had just walked in, waved at the front desk and then her face was spread on the floor that smelled of fresh lime cleaner.

All those signs saying “Caution. Wet floor.“ They’re more useful than you think.

Someone mopped the floor, left it soaking wet and walked away for a cigarette. My sister’s shoe lost grip. She tumbled on her arse and her leg twisted and snapped. Her shin bone turned into two uncalcified useless sticks. The doctor said both her tibia and fibula were broken, in case you’re one of those who enjoys calling your bones with Latin names.

So now she can’t really get up from the sofa and takes photos of this massive iron scaffolding sticking out under her knee. To keep her leg whole and teach her bones how to grow back straight. It looks like my nephew started a Lego project on her leg and just forgot to finish it. You really don’t realise all the work those bones do, until, well, you know, they just don’t anymore.

At the airport, we’re still waiting for the missing shoe. If this was a fairytale, this is where my line on the screenplay would kick in and I’d stroll in on a white horse looking for my princess trying to fit a crystal shoe on every woman’s feet. But since that’s as creepy as it sounds, I just keep waiting.

A pilot with waxed hair swings his leather bag in one hand and cuts the queue in front of everyone. His trousers pulled up so much they squeeze his crotch into a small sack hanging between his legs. And this security girl, she lifts her hand and says, “Oi, Captain Sparrow.” She says, “Next time try to wait for your turn, okay?“ And Captain Sparrow must really be hurt in his big captain cockpit ego, because while he empties his pockets, he turns towards the security girl and shouts, “Don’t you shout at me, young girl.“ And he jumps in front of everyone and walks towards the metal detector. Too quickly for him to hear the security girl saying, “That’s just how I talk, you prick.“

When my sister got her little scaffolding project on her leg, my mother was nearly crying. Then she went, “Must be all that extra weight you carry.“ She said, “Maybe it’s about time to shed a few pounds?“ Now she helps my sister with the ironing and the kids. Because my sister, she successfully managed to domesticate her husband to clean, hoover and cook pies, cakes and any recipe she can find around.

Even the shittiest moment in life can be reframed to get some joy out of it. Any Buddhist would tell you that.

Wet floors must really have some problems with my sister. After she got rid of nappies and learnt how to sit in the loo, one morning she went to nursery and slipped on the bathroom floor. The sink landed on her front teeth, and for a while, my sister smiled like my grandma used to. All unhappy and toothless.

It took my parents a loan and several years driving back and forth to the best dentist in the region. They blamed the floor, the school, but it turned out that the wet floor had really a school uniform and a hairband. One of the older girls saw my sister brushing her teeth, and for a laugh she grabbed the back of her head and smacked it on the sink. Making a giant mess of blood and teeth everywhere.

Now my sister, she works for a local bank and provides loans and mortgages herself to people who can’t afford expensive dentists. She’s got that perfect Colgate smile you’d want her in a TV ad to persuade you to finally start flossing.

Back to the airport, after a few gates closed, and more flip-flops walked through the security check, it happened. Maybe it was a magic elf hidden in the X-ray. Or a fairy. A talking cricket. But following a suitcase covered with stickers slapped all over it, the X-ray spits out a big tray with one white shoe looking all lonely and covered in grease.

My wife, she puts it on and says, “How expensive would it be to buy the entire Prosecco bar?” I say that This is our low-cost trip. That would be way off our budget. And my wife says, “Imagine your parents saw me walking out of the arrivals barefoot.“ I say, “It could be worse.“ I say, “We could be walking around with an unfinished Lego project stuck on our legs.“

The Prosecco bar was shut for renovation. So we spent the entire flight staring out of the window and squeezing the armrest waiting to land.