Those of you who play online video games will know
what a ‘Random’ is. For those of you who
boast lives, Randoms are people playing the same game at the same time as you, who
are not part of your circle of friends, or in your ‘party’. Hardcore gamers flatly refuse to play with Randoms,
largely because they either don’t know the rules of the game, the etiquette or
just plain refuse to observe them.
Randoms are only one stage higher up the food-chain than ‘Noobs’, people
who have only just started to play the game and who are also guilty of these
same sins. In the world of online
gaming, it’s fairly easy to deal with these phenomena; if you’re in charge of
the game itself (the lobby), you can preclude them from joining the game by
removing them from the lobby (known as ‘boooting’ them – literally kicking them
off the server). If you’re not ‘lucky
enough’ (erm…) to be a Mod(erator),
you can turn take out your frustration on them by just killing them, even if
they’re on your team. And, if it all
gets too much, you can simply Rage-Quit – leave the game before it finishes and
try to find another lobby without the Riff-Raff.
But Noobs and Randoms are not restricted to online
gaming. Oh no. And I guess you have an inkling of where I’m
going with this.
I am currently sat on a charter flight to Heraklion,
next to my wife and son, having just passed over Budapest. Ahead of me, two weeks of Sun, Sea and, well,
that’s probably about it, to be honest - I am travelling with the missus, after all (only joking, sweetie :-* ). And I’m already thinking I’m going to need
every second of it.
All the rules that you learn, either the hard way,
or through reading Rick & Anthony’s book or watching Up in The Air, every
trick of the trade you pick up on the road goes sailing out of the window when
it’s time to go on a package holiday.
The first thing you miss is the online check-in. This is exacerbated by the Tour Company’s
requirement (in Poland, at least), that you turn up 3 hours before departure in
order to stand in a queue [the HORROR!] to collect your tickets, hotel vouchers
etc. from the agent in the airport. It
gets worse; next, you don’t get to wear your smug look as you glide past the
great unwashed to the Baggage-Drop Only desk, or even better, the Status desks. You have to stand in another queue…
Forgive me, I’ve just broken out in a cold sweat
at the memory…
No, you have to join the throng. You’re in with
the Randoms. And you’re in with the Noobs. And no amount of Privilege Miles can help you
now.
OK, ok. I
know that not everyone is lucky enough to be able to travel regularly and so
cannot be au-fait with all of the vagaries of navigating an airport, but surely
my Frequent Flyer card is the real-world
equivalent of online Mod status, isn’t it?
Surely, when the guy in front of me sets off the metal detector 3 times
because he hasn’t removed his belt, then hasn’t taken the coins out of his
pocket, then is found to have WWII
AMMUNITION IN HIS CARRY-ON (ceremonial, for sure, but WT actual F?), I
should be allowed to boot him, right?
When a bunch of lads are sitting in the bar, necking their third beer at
9.30am, turning the air blue whilst all around them sit families with small children,
I should be able to call in a Chopper-Gunner over their position and spawn-kill
the living shit out of them, shouldn’t I?
And when, the very moment the Fasten Seatbelts sign goes off, literally
everyone gets up and starts groping for the luggage bins, rubbing their hairy
beer bellies in my face, I should be able to rage-quit and find another server,
clearly.
Tell me, why do the Randoms insist on spending the
whole flight in the aisle?
Today, I saw something I’ve never seen
before. We are flying in convoy. Two planes left Poznan at the same time, both
bound for Heraklion. Now, how difficult
would it have been for the authorities to ask everyone at check-in: “Good
morning sir, are you a Frequent-Flyer?” Everyone that said yes and could
produce some form of expensive-coloured proof could travel on the first plane
(and I’ll even let the families join them, as long as the FF agrees to keep
them in check). Everyone else goes on
the second plane. That way, we get to enjoy
the conditions to which we’ve become accustomed and Mr RyanAir gets the
Standing-Room Only flights he’s been dreaming of for so long.
And I won’t have to endure the inevitable pathetic
cheering and applause when we land in about an hour.
I need to buy another beer…
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