Kilts on a Plane

February 7, 2013 on 1:53 pm by Michael Grey | In Humour, Random Thoughts | Comments Off on Kilts on a Plane

Travel brings out the best and the worst in people. When you fly charter it’s usually the later. Endlessly winding cattle queues and travel industry regulations that have “FUN SUCKING” stamped in red on the cover of every volume help see to that. Still, despite baggage scales calibrated in micro-grams and pay-per-use WCs, oddly memorable occurrences can happen when flying – even charter.

Consider today. I’m in mid-flight now somewhere over the mid-Atlantic tapping this blab out.

Have you ever noticed on flights to or from Scotland there is almost always one guy in a kilt? On the way to Glasgow there was a devoted elderly kiltie walking the floor at the departure gate, his MacLean of Duart kilt and “Jacobite” shirt ready for old country action. Going home? A first time dream visit to his ancestral homeland? I don’t know. But there he was all set for bare-legs-on-leather across the pond.

A week later, return flight: same thing – different guy but still a “kilt”. I use quotation marks as he wore (and as of this moment he still does – thankfully) a £50 High Street special: two yards of Sialkot’s best; this time a purple number. With toque, dark (purple) sunglasses and Doc Martens he had NQR rubber-stamped all over his beefy pre-middle-aged face. I’m not saying a person’s Not Quite Right if they lean to be-kilted travel. I’m just, well, saying.

Kilts on a Plane

As it turned out, KiltBoy was, indeedy, Not Quite Right. My seat happened to be near the front this rare time and I noted KB was the last – the last – to board. He sat down in the row in front of me – not directly in front of me, but a few seats over.

About 15 minutes after take-off the woman two seats over from me let’s rip a scream of bombardic proportions, followed up with a “THAT MAN JUST FUCKING THREW UP ALL OVER ME!” (Read in your best Maryhill). So KB was definitely NQR.

I’m guessing he made the effort to turn his rear to his rear for one reason only. Nothing against the lady (well, a little chunder maybe) but he must’ve thought he had to save his kilt and rabbitty sporran from a dose of breakfast revisited.

And do you know what he said to the poor lady after his warm unasked-for greeting? “You don’t have to make such a big deal about it”. Nice.

Lucky for all, the plane had spare seats and people were moved to drier ground.

OK. Maybe I am saying it: kilts and flying: just NQR.


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