Why do Air China and China Southern's liveries look like they came from 1981? And what secrets are inside?
Giraffe rarely affords any business travel. When they do it's via coach, as in a coach with 4 wheels, or via a taxi which offers tax-reclaimable fapiaos that the 23 year-old Rainy bodyguard, assigned to the handful of miscreant drug users, alcoholics and lost children that maintain the school's very existence, places in her pockets for her expenses claim. We stop at a Lawson to buy a bottle of water. It takes a further 15 minutes to get the fapiao for that 1.5 kuai purchase. Turns out she has a tab there, a fapiao tab, and we walk back to the car with her beaming like a cheshire cat having claimed no less than 17 kuai in receipts.
During the 5 days vacation Giraffe generously (their words not mine) provide outside of public holidays + Christmas Day, incidentally I think this is illegal for anyone with more than 5 years' work experience regardless of whether that experience was gained with the current employer or the cumulative total years of work experience, I get the opportunity to enjoy harmonious scheduling and 18" legroom with flagship private sector operators such as Juneyao and Spring. The future is now. Standing seats would be a better option but there are few opportunities to stand as the captain plays with seatbelt sign taunting a rush to the unspacious toilets only to be elbowed out of the way by an ayi who proceeds to ladoozi for the next three minutes until the seatbelt sign is re-lit. Is that how underpaid pilots get their kinky kicks?
Sitting on the tarmac at 8pm, already 2 hours in, wondering if we'll get to the Zhengzhou weekend break by 1am or be redirected to the colossal domestic terminal at Changsha, it's 888 gates manspreading over the 4 gates of the international terminal, I gaze through the dry spindly hair, roots growing out likely last dyed 3 months ago, of the middle aged 'lady' that refused to acknowledge me when boarding despite my giving her a hearty KNEEHOW when sitting. Perhaps she was once jilted by a laowinner such as myself and instead has to live a miserable life with the ever-quarralling husband's mother. Probably has an awful bush too. From my Seat B Row 59 I capture a few fleeting glances of the sleek lines of the 1980s-styled 787 graciously passing ahead of us in the queue. I am enamoured.
To think of discovering the mystery of what may be inside in terms of Deng-era service, seat pitch, glamorous hostesses, free flowing Tingdow, and amazing dumplings culminate to give me an erection. Perhaps I will be promoted to Head Foreign Teacher next year. Or even English Language Consultant! Thus this as-yet unobtainable experience of having a flight arrive on time and be barely pleasurable and paid for by someone else might, just might, be within my grasp. That's why I soldier on.
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