A Heathrow wait

By family arrangement last night I drove to Heathrow Terminal 2, parked in its short stay (pick up) car park and then made my way inside in order to await an Anglo-friendly family member by marriage who was arriving from Canada at approximately 9.00pm. My task was to convey him to the home of one of my brothers, where he will be staying until early next week, because my brother and his wife were going to be on an outing to the West End theatre and would not be back until beyond 11.00pm.

The only aspect of this Uber taxi-like project that concerned me – not that I had been ordered by smartphone app or was being paid, I stress – was that it was due to be undertaken past my normal bedtime.

In preparation, therefore, I went out to take some exercise earlier in the afternoon than normal and, upon my return, took to my bed in order to get some early-evening (well, about 5.00pm) shut-eye, having order the staff to awake me at about 6.45pm for a spot of food, this as a tried and trusted personal means of rendering myself into a state of alertness sufficient to enable me to drive my car up to and including the hour of midnight (should that be necessary).

Anyway – back to the story.

I duly arrived at the ‘Arrivals’ area of Terminal 2 at approximately 8.45pm – intent upon nothing more than finding a WH Smiths store and then a coffee shop at which I would purchase a magazine or periodical of some sort and triple-shot expresso respectively – this in order to settle in for maybe a 45-minute wait whilst my target made his way first to the baggage area to retrieve his suitcase and golf bag and thence out into the weird and wonderful world of London UK.

Best laid plans … and so on.

I took the opportunity to glance up at the ‘Arrivals’ television screen only to learn that the 9.00pm flight from Toronto (disconcertingly identified by two flight numbers, one of which bore no resemblance at all to that I had been given to understand he was be on) was not on time but in fact had arrived 25 minutes early.

Thinking on my feet as all great operators do, I abandoned my quest for something to read and made my way straight to the Café Nero emporium at the far end of the terminal to purchase my much-needed coffee hit – without which (at this late stage of the evening) I was concerned my brain might not work properly.

That task accomplished I took up station in front of the double ‘automatically opening’ doors through which arriving passengers emerge into British civilisation.

Initially this was an untroubled experience. There were only a smattering of families, drivers and others arranged around the area behind the barriers and I duly arranged myself adjacent the nearest exit, straight in front of the aforementioned automatic doors, where my target might see me but – equally important – I might also recognise him.

These days, as ever, I quite enjoy people-watching. That old Wilfred Pickles (Yorkshireman) quote (“There’s nowt so queer as folk …”) always rings true and I switched my mental faculties to ‘battery save’ mode and dialled in for the duration. I was not disappointed. Half an hour or so drifted by in pleasant style, with just a single annoying/worrying attendant development, viz. the number of people awaiting family members home – or business executives to the UK, or those in transit to other countries – began to grow. Perhaps several flights had arrived simultaneously – actually, the reason doesn’t matter.

However, it wasn’t long before (as it often does) something occurred which really pissed me off – one of those things about human beings that is unerringly inconsiderate and unmindful of the interests and comfort of others.

In taking up my position, being a right-thinking and courteous kind of guy, I had carefully chosen a spot from which I had a wide-angle view of everyone that might come through with of the aforementioned automatic doors … whilst simultaneously making sure that I was not obstructing anyone else’s view, or getting unhealthily close to them in any sort of antisocial manner.

Live and let live, and so on …

But suddenly, one of those growing number of taxi drivers … or mini cab drivers … or family members … awaiting an arrival, holding a placard up inscribed with the arrival’s name as a means of identification, materialised beside me.

That was okay and just about acceptable.

But then he gradually slid around and in front of me, taking up a space that I had deliberately left free (the better to obtain my wide-angled view of the automatic doors). In short, he came around me and then in front of me in a manner that left him obscuring my former grandstand view.

The fact that he was a biggish gentleman – perhaps two or three inches taller and wider than I was – meant that I now had a view of proceedings that was only 40% (okay, perhaps 45%) of that I had previously enjoyed. Plus, on top of that, he had ended up in a position no more than three feet in front of me. This I regarded as ‘crowding my space’ by any yardstick.

I was mildly incensed, to say the least. I contemplated my options. Should I move around in front of him, exactly three feet in front of him in fact, in order to make my point – and just stand there trying to obscure his view, in retaliation?

Or should I do nothing. I stood there with my 40% view of the people walking through (now in a semi-flood) and fumed silently.

It didn’t help that my obstruction was an Asian gentleman. I like to think I’m as free of racist bigotry as the next man in Britain, but one cannot help it … I began thinking unseemly thoughts about Asian men as a general type, but only because he was Asian (if you see what I mean).

I’d have thought the same dark thoughts about him had he not been Asian but instead – for example – white and bald, or white and obese, or white and 60 years of age and wearing a long pair of shorts, a T-shirt and a baseball cap on back-to-front … as one chap actually was.

(Albeit, to be fair to the last of these, he wasn’t standing three feet bang-slap in front of me, obscuring my view).

And that’s my tale of yesterday, in a nutshell.

A short while later my ‘target’ breezed through, we eventually made our way to my brother’s home and had a life-enhancing catch-up chat until my brother and his spouse returned and a family reunion ensured.

And then I drove home to bed.