Ryanair Blues

A flight from London to Stockholm?
Free.
And back again?
Free.
So you're saying I can fly from London to Stockholm, back to London again and pay nothing?
Free.


Ok. I'll take it then please.
That'll be forty eight pounds.
I thought you said it was free.
What are you kidding? You think you can fly from london to Stockholm and back again for nothing. Are you stupid?
OK fine I'll take it anyway.
Forty pounds for a bag. Ten pounds booking fee.
Total: 98 pounds.

Congratulations on booking a flight on Ryanair. Please read the terms and conditions below:

Terms and conditions:
All passengers flying Ryanair must abide by the general rules of civil aviation.
They must also abide by certain other rules laid down by Ryanair and changed from time to time.
Ryanair is an (un)authorized flying insititution.
We do not take responsibility for anything.
There's a reason why we are so cheap.
Fuck you.
You will be penalized for something, we will find a way to penalize you.
Ryanair can shut down at any point without prior notice.
You will not be refunded.
The airport can move without prior notice.
Ryanair does not have toilets.
You can not get a refund.
If you try to get a refund we will fine you for trying.
If you arrive late you will be shot, and your family will be responisble for all costs incurred.
Fuck you.
If you wish to wear shoes you will be charged.
If the pilot is horny he might rape you, and if you press charges you will be shot and charged extra.
The flight leaves at six in the morning, be there four days early for pre-booking.
When we said London to Stockholm we meant 'London' to 'Stockholm' ;)
The airports are in fact unused industrial ports in the remote countryside.
There is only a remote chance of you making it to your destination.
We do not have offices.
If you wish to contact us you can phone our call centre, which operates between 14h00 and 14h30 every alternate Saturday.
Calls are charged at standard Ryanair rates*
Fuck you.

* calls charged at 150 pounds per minute. If you are unable to pay Ryanair reserves the right to conviscate your
moveable and immoveable propery**

** Fuck you!


So I had officially joined the ranks of the millions who have booked flights online for Europe's famous low cost, NO FRILLS
airline! To be fair, they really are very cheap. Ya.

After countless hassles I arrived at the 'London' ;) airport at four am. There were thousands and thousands of people
queuing for flights, and I finally understood what the term Eurotrash meant. I kept trying not to be prejudiced against
these people. But it was difficult. Ryanair follows a sort of kafkaesque policy. They have no offices, the call centres
are inaccessible, and they keep to the outskirsts of major cities, laying low. There's a constant
sense of menace about them. Like the threats in Kafka's stories, it's invisible, hard to pin down. There's simply an
everpresent sense of doom as thousands of humans stand about confused, afraid, angry, as they get stamped,
checked, scanned, waid, sprayed down, packed into trucks and crammed into planes made out of plastic.

Because the airport is the first place anyone has face to face contact with the company, frustration is at an all time high.
There are constant arguments between patrons and employees. The employees all have copies of the 'rules' with them
and make a point of waving them in the patrons' faces. 'No ma'am I'm afraid the captain is allowed to rape you. Look here.'

But anyway, I finally took my seat. I was so crammed that my face was between my legs. Thankfully I'd managed to find
a seat on the isle with a free chair between me and the guy at the window. I hadn't slept in days and my eyes were heavy
and sore and the idea of sleep - even in this position - was amazing!
















But the world had other plans for me. I'd thought I was the last person to board the plane. But I wasn't.
Coming down the isle, was a fat, red faced, puffy Quasimodo.
'Mind if I sit next to you then?' He asked me, with a big stupid smile on his face.
'Umm...' I said.
'Would you mind shifting up then?' He asked.
'I kind of want to sit on the Isle' I said, as I climbed up to let this orge take the seat in the middle.
He smelt as if he'd been kept in a barrel of cider for the night.
I was so disappointed.
'Allo' He said. 'My name's John.'
'Michael' I said, and shook his hand with great sadness in my heart.
'I'm ten hours late for work' he said.
He had this big round face, and large gaps between his teeth that looked as if they'd been filled with boiled egg. His
breath was intoxicating.
'So where you from?'
'South Africa.'
I thought then about Kulula, South Africa's answer to low cost air travel. It seemed like a distant dream. A lovely distant dream.
Their phrase when launching had been 'Now anyone can fly.'
And as I sat next to this stinking monster, I believed the phrase was more appropriate to ryanair: ANYONE can fly. And they do.
I only wished they'd taken the trouble to stick to some of their conditions and shot him on arrival!
Why?!?!
'So Souf Africa hey.' He shrugged again, in this strange way, where he kept raising his eyebrows and his
mouth again and again, and shrugging some more. 'Souf Africa.Where in Souf Africa?'
'Johannesburg'.
I looked away.
'Johannesburg hey. So what you going to Sweden for?'
'Got family there.'
'I'm going for work. I was meant to be fere yesterday, missed my flight. So I'm ten hours. No two days and
ten hours late for work.'
I'm sure they're missing you, I wanted to say. But instead I closed my eyes mid conversation (or rather mid monologue).
'I guess you want to be left alone then' he said.
'Ummm' I mumbled.
'Oright, I'll leave you alone then. I can see you want your peace.'
I closed my eyes, and for a few moments, drifted peacefully through blackness, floating gently. All the difficulties
of the world seemed far away, and even though I was being forced to rub the top of my head against my groin due to the
standard Ryanair flight conditions, I was comfortable.
'So Johannesburg' he said.
Oh Jesus Christ!!!

As we flew, I continued to ignore him and he continued to try and talk to me. Often interjecting
his already stupid monologue with 'How long we been flying for? Feels like we been flying for hours!'
I began to realize that he suffered from some or other condition. In days gone by he would have been called 'the village idiot'. But today
some more PC term would need to be applied. Special. Very.
But I didn't care how special he was. I wanted him dead. I started thinking about the different ways in which
I would like to kill him. I settled on the idea of a gardening fork. The small, hand held type. I imagined lunging
it into his chest, and watching him buckle over. I wanted to slice his throat and use the little cup I'd been given
with my water, bought at standard Ryanair rates*** to catch the blood, so I could drink it as a potion to give
me energy to rape the pilot.
NO!!! These were dark thoughts. But it was not my fault. It was Ryanair! If you fly aboard an airline that endorces
rape and murder as policy, how can you be blamed for thinking like this!


It was hot, and I was in pain.
'Feel like we've been flying forever. How long we been flying for?'
Everytime one of the flight attendants came past they bumped my knees which were
now sticking out into the walkway to prevent them from going gangrenous. The village idiot bubbled on, his breath
was making me ill.
'How long we been flying for?'

Finally we landed. I ran through customs, and fetched my bag. I ran onto the bus. I found a seat next to someone
who didn't want to talk.

As we started the thirty nine hour drive from 'Stockholm' ;) to the city centre, I heard that familiar 'oright mate' drunken
voice that had tormented me on board the flight. He had found a Swedish woman to harrass. I turned around. She wasn't
even sitting next to him, but a row in front. He was shouting at her, asking her all sorts of questions. Being a polite
Swede, she answered them. But soon said, in her polite Swedish voice: 'I'm going to sleep now, and you should too.'
He objected, but soon, I think, he must have. And I - I think - must have too.

*** Fuck you!

Mike Rands