You wouldn't like me when I'm angry. Particularly not if you're at the start of your holiday, dreamily winding down as you amble through Gatwick, and you cross my path as I'm storming through on my way to my parents' in Murcia.
I've done this flight enough now that I know where I need to be. Get to Gatwick with enough time to get through security, go to WHSmiths and buy a paper and bottle of water, go to Boots to pick up any toiletries, grab a sandwich from Costa – and if I'm there early or the plane's delayed, get an Oreo milkshake from that new place in the South Terminal; thank you, BAA for that one (it's the only thing I have to thank you for. When the hell is passport control going to stop being a building site?) – then the forever tramp down to the Gate.
And I'm sorry if you're in holiday mode. You see, I'm not. I'm going to see my family in a place that, while pleasant enough, isn't somewhere I would choose to visit if I had all of Europe at my disposal. Perhaps it's too many package holidays as a child. Whatever the reason, I'm not in the same happy headspace as you, and you just weaved across my path six times while I was trying to go to the loo and I hate you. I'm sorry for the stare that could freeze waterfalls, but did you hand in your brain as well as your bags at check-in? You had a right to. You're on holiday. Unfortunately that doesn't change the fact that I hate you.
I hate you even more at the Easyjet boarding gate. No, there is no allocated seating. Is that any reason to crowd round the door the very millisecond the lady in the orange shirt walks behind the microphone? You are in the final boarding group. Because I am an internet savvy gal I checked in online which means I'm in a boarding group ahead of you, and have to wade my way through you when I'm called. And you will look at me suspiciously, like I'm trying to pull a fast one. But this is just the way it works. You know this. You also know that it's not like you'll be left behind. They won't make you sit on the wing if you're the last on. You even have the information that the flight lasts less than 2 and a half hours. If you're not sat with your loved ones for such a perishing eternity, is that so bad? Will you die because of it?
You may point now and say 'ahh. You say this because you're not in the final boarding group. And you're on your own. You don't understand our desire to get on First'. Well, I have been in your situation before – with friends and part of the crushing, sweating, final group (god knows, it's worse on Ryanair) – and I didn't care. It's not worth the fucking stress! What do you gain by scooping your fellow travellers? The chance to block the aisles and slow boarding down to a crawl because hey, you're on the plane now, you'll spend five minutes sorting out your bags and putting them in the overhead locker and screw the rest of us. I hate you. I really, really hate you.
And then my parents wonder why, when I arrive, I'm so tense and spend the first ten minutes complaining. This is not helping familial relations.