“Business Class,” I said over my shoulder, ticket and UK passport held up for emphasis.
My cheeks were on fire and I could feel a stream of sweat running between my shoulder blades. God, I couldn’t wait to sit down and prop my feet up. I was tired of Switzerland, of its stuffy warm summer air and of the bloody heatwave it’d been stuck in for the past fortnight. Not that I was eager for another assignment so soon, but a change in temperature would be welcome.
“Oi! Mind the queue, mate,” another man grumbled after I shoved him aside. I didn’t spare him a second glance, never mind words. I was three feet from the gate desk and nothing was going to keep me from it now. I had an appointment in Sweden at 3pm that very afternoon. Unlike this flight, I had no intentions of being late for that. If Stockholm’s branch of Blackfriars Bank was expected to be on its best behaviour for their audit’s first day, so should their examiner.
The woman minding the gate pursed her plush lips while setting her thick auburn eyebrows in a frown. No way she couldn’t have seen me part the crowd like the Red Sea in my mad scramble to her post. “Boarding pass and ID please,” she requested, her voice making it clear that I’d better have had a good excuse for disrupting her corner of Geneva Airport.
I pushed both of the items into her hands, too out of breath to say anything. It was easy to pinpoint the exact moment her eyes caught the words “Business Class” on the boarding pass; her lips stretched into a practised smile. It figured. These people were trained to uphold a certain level of respect and esteem for those flying in the higher classes. It didn’t say much about their self-respect but I accepted it. Going with the flow meant enjoying the amenities that went with that.
“Thank you for choosing Swedish Airline, sir,” she said as she scanned my boarding pass. As she waved me through, she added, “Have a pleasant flight.”
2. LIGHTNING AND THUNDER
The clear blue skies of Switzerland turned a dark shade of grey as we flew over Germany. My thoughts drifted towards the land that lay beneath us. I guess what they say about Germans being hard workers was true. It was one of the few countries I’d never been sent to. Somehow, the two German offices of Blackfriars Bank had always met or exceeded their monthly goals, year after year. To be honest, it made me a tad bit jealous. I’d promised myself a visit to Germany one day, just to see how they did it.
The plane I was stuck in, an Airbus A220-100, was on the smaller end of the scale. It only had a carrying capacity of a hundred passengers or so. As a result, we were flying lower than the heavy carriers, straight into the mushy weather. It being such a small plane made me less than excited for the intense turbulence we were bound to feel. I preferred it when the company booked me on larger planes and their hulking, invincible frames for international flights. Besides, those flying giants came with all the comforts you could think of: movies, fine foods and drinks, blankets, toiletries. Not only did this plane have none of those things, it wasn’t particularly comfortable either. The only difference between Business and Economy was rows of two seats instead of the standard threes. Nothing like what I was used to on the larger overseas flights with their comfortable reclining seats.
Still, the warm, wet hand towel the stewardess handed me upon departure had been appreciated. Feeling the need to de-stress after my frantic chase through the Geneva terminal, I placed the wet towel on my forehead, tilting my head back.
A beep followed by the captain’s voice cut through the silence. “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We hope you are enjoying your flight thus far and thank you for flying with us today. I do, however, have a bit of bad news. I’m sorry to say, but the weather in Scandinavia today isn’t very good.”
Well, at least that Swiss heatwave was behind me at last, I thought. That cheery revelation made me smile.
“There are several small storm formations over Sweden that we will have to cross through to reach Stockholm,” the captain continued. “As a result, this flight may be a little rough, so I encourage all of you to remain seated at all times. And don’t forget to keep your seatbelts on. Thank you.” True to his word, the little seat-belt sign went on at the end of the captain’s announcement.
Somewhere in the back of the cabin, a little child was crying. He or she had been doing that for the past ten minutes or so. I heaved a sigh as I felt a headache settling in. Business Class just wasn’t what it used to be. Now there was no partition to separate us from the rest of the plane, only a flimsy curtain that did nothing to block the child’s annoying wails.
Said curtain was an ugly shade of yellow, the same colour as the padding on the seats and headrests. That, coupled with the cobalt blue used for the carpet and the plastic of the seats, left little doubt as to this plane’s origin. One only had to hope it hadn’t been shipped straight out of an IKEA factory as a kit.
I was nursing my second glass of cheap on-board generic whiskey when heavy rain started beating down on the plane. I think we weren’t far from Denmark by then. The further north we flew, the bigger the droplets grew. The sound of them hitting the fuselage became like hail beating down on a car roof.
It got to the point where the sight made me want to pee, which made me curse Mother Nature. By my estimation, we had to be flying well over Sweden by now. We’d hit the ground in twenty or thirty minutes max, so there was no point in subjecting myself to the tiny, unsanitary on-board facilities. I chose to hold on.
Another beep heralded the plane’s speakers coming to life again. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m sorry to have to tell you that we will not be landing at Stockholm Arlanda Airport as planned.”
The captain’s words were followed by a general moan of disapproval that swallowed up the beginning of the next part of his announcement. “…is closed to all traffic due to severe bad weather in the east. We have requested to be diverted to Göteborg-Landvetter, but they are already taking all the heavy carriers diverting from Arlanda. Instead, we will be pushing north and landing in Kiruna Airport.” Another louder set of disapproving moans rose in response, drowning out more of the captain’s words. “…measures will be taken on the ground to ensure you can resume your journey as smoothly as possible. On behalf of Swedish Airline, we apologise for this unforeseen turn of events, but we have to put our passengers’ safety first.”
By the time the speaker became silent once more, my groan had joined the chorus of the other passengers. Well, that was just lovely. First, I was late to board this damn plane. Now I’d be late to reach my destination too. If I were the type to believe in such idle things, I’d think the universe was trying to send me a message or something.
As soon as I could, I caught the attention of the young freckled stewardess tending to the Business Class. Her uniform was a national anthem in itself—blue pencil skirt, blue cotton jacket with yellow stripes, yellow scarf, and a blue hat. As she moved closer, she offered me a dimpled smile while asking me how she could be of help.
“Kiruna,” I said. “Where the hell is that? Is it close to Stockholm?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.” Her smile didn’t waver as she delivered the bad news. “Lapland mining town, about a thousand kilometres north of Stockholm; not that far from the Norwegian Sea.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Is there nothing closer? An empty highway, an abandoned field, a fuckin’ golf course?”
Though my tone was harsh, she gave me a full-blown smile and a soft chuckle, like I’d just told her a joke. The whole thing felt unnatural and practised.