It was a simple job for a simple man. You cant fuck this up. Not even me. Worth only $19 million mind you, but I was trying my hardest not to think about that. As far as I was concerned, all one had to do was escort a document a few thousand miles across the world.How hard could it be? Usually, you would use a service like DHL, but this was worth too much to let those certified muppets anywhere near it. Anyhow, the glove fit as well as OJs or probably about as well as the extremely small promotional condoms ordered from China for the African market. Oops. A few thousand wasted units along with a few thousand unplanned babies (sorry god). Forgetful, unpunctual, disorganised, stoner who resides in the outer galaxies. Perfect.
It was pretty straight forward, a two-legged flight from London to Dar es Salaam via Dubai with Emirates airlines. Probably the first time in history, i’d ever decided I wasn’t going to reduce the cost of my flight by consuming as much alcohol as possible. “10 beers are not equal to a £50 saved off my flight ticket” mantra being repeatedly bashed around my head to confirm positive action. You are what you think. This time I wasn’t going to be a cheap fucking bastard. Not going to be a cheap bastard. Not cheap bastard. Cheap bastard. Was only going to have a couple anyway. Plus, it would probably help me catch a couple of hours snooze. It was somewhere in between the £35-£40 saving that I started drifting off.
Hardly twenty minutes into the hops, yeast and barely fuelled doze the urgent urge to urinate overruled the sleep function forcing some immediate action. Fuck. Quickly clambering over the sleeping old guy next to me into the aisle trying to assess the closest toilet. This was desperate as I valiantly tried to suck the liquid gold back up the urethra tube it was about to gush out of. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Get out my fucking way. Emergency over here. Why were there so many people standing in the aisle? Don’t tell me they are queuing for the bathroom. Please, lord no. Just get back inside please I fucking beg you.
It was too fucking late, as two litres of Heineken flooded uncontrollably through the bladders exit door and back out into the world. The circle of life. Whilst my brain was telling me there were hundreds of people around and I should be very ashamed of myself. My heart was telling me something different. The feeling of immense relief as I leaned back and muscles untensed could only be described as exhilarating, coupled with the pleasant sensation of warmth travelling throughout both legs. The mind was blown. Id always wanted to join the mile-high club. Probably the closest i’ll ever get. For a moment i’d forgot where I was. But it was a brief moment at best.
Keep a straight face. Don’t make eye contact. Please nobody notice. Please. My jeans were heavy and I did my best John Wayne impression back down the aisle id just frantically hurtled down. What the fuck was I going to do? I didn’t carry any extra pair of anything. Somehow, nobody had noticed, or way more likely I hadn’t noticed that they had noticed. The lucky dude fortune enough to occupy the seat nest to me was still sleeping and it would probably be best if it stayed that way. I knew exactly what to do. Just a little jump hop and skip for mankind. One small step for man.
Unfortunately, the aeronautical engineers didn’t factor in the added weight in my jeans and I plummeted like a lead balloon wiping my drenched leg down the poor fellow’s arm. He jerked awake. Shit. I thought about smashing the Airbus window, hoping it would suck me out into the atmosphere and end this misery. I couldn’t even bear to look at him. Look straight. Look straight. After what felt like the whole plane journey, the relief of hearing a muffled snore was delightful to my auditory senses.
Despite my legs being drenched and cold, I didn’t even feel it, the only thing I could feel was embarrassment and shame. My poor parents. Surprisingly the rancid smell of piss was fleeting. My mind stopped for a second, what was the science? My farts didn’t smell on planes either. I’d only been contemplating those most revolutionary of thoughts for a few seconds when to my utmost relief the pilot announced we would be landing 20 mins ahead of schedule. Thank fuck. After pretending to sleep until the last passenger had disembarked, before lugging my jeans along with the two pieces of luggage and my dignity off and on to the bus that takes you into the terminal. This was fucking disgusting. Ahhh the pleasant potent aroma of ammonia. I need to get this fucking nastiness off.
As we arrived in the terminal, I was gonna bolt off in front of the crowds and into the first shop around. The first part went well with a good start off the blocks, however, it was only when I got to the bottom of escalator it hit me. Fuuuuccck sake. The fucking laptop bag with the multimillion-dollar document was still on the bus. One fucking job. I’m sure it was on the bus. Fucccccccck. How was I going to explain this one? I’m such a fucking idiot. Sprinting against the tide I made it back to the bus as it was taking back off into the tunnel network.
Without thinking, as always, especially after a couple, instinct took over. The best course of action it was universally decided, would be to do my best T1000 impersonation and chase this fucking thing. Why the fuck could the driver not see my wild gesticulations signalling him to stop? A game of marathon charades through the underground network with soggy jeans beneath Dubai’s most glamorous airport wasn’t in the script, but thankfully the bus finally came to a holt. A misspent youth had told me there would be a button on the side that would open the door. Worked like a charm. All those years of bunking were paying off. Thank fuck. The laptop bag was still there on the luggage rack exactly like I left it. All part of the plan I assure you.
Guzzling all the air of relief around took a few mins, as I turned around to look for an exit point the pleasant site of two guards shouting hands-on weapons was a little cause for concern. Brown men in airports are what black men are in America. Nothing I hadn’t seen before though. He said something that sounded like ‘I wasn’t meant to be in this restricted area’. Probably because they kept all the slaves which built this city down there. How was I suppose to know that? A few questions and some head shakes later I was led through some back doors and taken to the immigration counters and straight into some brand new Nike shorts.
The rest of the journey passed without incident, and the document made it in time albeit with some mysterious hallmark streaks of liquid which nobody will ever know about. Except you and me.
They got the fucking contract as well. 19 million fucking dollars at the small cost of my dignity.