BlogAir

It was flying’ time to get back. After a weekend of downtown celebrations and two good friends' lovely weddings (yes, I admit, I spied on Pandelis & Irene, but it was for a good cause) I picked up my finished suit and Ms’ dress from the designer and headed for the airport.

The dress travel bag was taller than me, and to tell you the truth in 37 degrees heat the last thing I needed was to stand in a packed queue in El-Vel for two hours having to dangle it overhead.

So I suavely blagged an Executive Lounge ticket from the Olympic Airlines check-in desk. At the lounge, three most gracious ladies (real air hostesses, with that perfect smile, not the insipid ones you see onboard lately) knew exactly how to take care of everything smoothly (and even cooed over the invite by IPS).



An hour of air-conditioned therapy watching the football on a plasma, two espressos and two stiff Sapphire G&Ts, I was healed and ready to leave. To pick a fight at the security desk.

I knew they would refuse to let the dress through without shoving it through the Xray machine, and I knew I had to refuse to let it vanish into the belly of that beast, where it could get snagged, soiled, oiled, squashed, etc. They had a job to do, but I didn't want to end up as human sacrifice to Bridezilla.

I mean, what sick mad twisted terrorist would use a wedding dress as a bomb? (don’t answer that..)

Anyway, after abusing one supervisor after another (sorry guys!) the head honcho agreed to mcguyver a platform out of those big blue plastic containers they have for putting your stuff in, face-down, covered with fabric, held with some tape.. well at least it was a good show for the others waiting in the queue.

And then they found the bomb. No, I’m joking - would I do such a thing? (don’t answer this either..)

Then another hour of waiting at the gate, courtesy of a delayed flight, but at least I could lay the dress out nicely on four seats in the waiting area. The downside was I got envious looks from women and evil looks from gay passengers on the OA734 to Myconos.



When boarding, I realised the plane was not as tall as the bag. At least the hostess was quick to figure out a good niche, and my highness allowed the plane to take off.

An hour later, on Samos, M smiled and waved, and it was all totally worth it.