I arrive at Belfast International this evening at 18:00 and walk to the front of the Speedy Boarding line.
(Moral – people over 50 will pay for the upgrade)
The check in guy says to me “Evening sir, I need you to know that there is a 90-minute delay on all flights this evening due to problems with French air-traffic control.”
I respond with:
“Can I tell you I was at a funeral on Wednesday and it wasn’t mine.
If all I have to worry about is a flight delay, I’m a lucky man.”

He replies:
“I wish more people could take that view – I’ve been dealing with people hurling abuse at me all day.”
I say:
“Well you are only doing your job mate.”

He checks me on my flight and thanks me for being so reasonable.
The airport is like a cattle market – so I use my Priority Pass card to access the business lounge.
(Moral – people over 50 will become members of a tribe that allows them privileges)
I settle down to use the gift of an unexpected 2 hours to answer all my emails before the weekend, make a few phone calls, catch up with Facebook.
At 20:30, there is a call to the lounge to say that my Bristol flight is cancelled.
Panic, despair – 30 seconds.
Then into solution mode.
Returning to Easyjet check in, I discover a line of 200 people and, at the front, voices raised at the beleaguered check in team.
I also spot my check in bloke sat back at Speedy Boarding.
I walk over to him:
“I know I’m lucky to be alive today but I’m also missing home and my woman – is there anything you can do to help me?”
He responds:
“I shouldn’t be doing this but let me have a look.
There is a 10:10 flight tomorrow morning to Bristol and there are two seats left, would you like one?”
“Yes” I reply.
“The problem is”, he adds, “if I book you on this flight I cannot get you a complimentary hotel room – you would have to join the back of the queue.”

It takes a heartbeat for me to say
“I don’t need a free hotel room – I need to get home to my woman.”
He looks left and right and then his fingers scrabble over the keyboard.
The phone rings and he answers.
I hear, “he is standing in front of me now.”
And then “thanks” to the person on the line.
“You are on” he announces – and hand writes my boarding details for tomorrow.
I thank him profusely and he thanks me for being so reasonable.
(Moral – if you take a minute to be nice to somebody – it can pay you back a thousand-fold.)
I exit the airport with my reclaimed bags and climb in a cab.
“Where to?”
“The Hilton Templepatrick please.”
I call the hotel from the cab.
“I wonder if you can help me – I’m a Diamond VIP card holder and I’ve just had a cancelled flight – I need B&B for one night only.”
The expected reply…..
“No problem sir, we can have a room ready for you in 10 minutes.”
My room is an upgrade to deluxe at no extra charge.
(Moral – points make prizes and people over 50 will stay loyal to a brand that stays loyal to them – and doesn’t employ idiots)
I’m writing this in the bar, with a large Jameson and the prospect of a good night’s sleep and a strong intention to enjoy a good Irish breakfast.
There are still 200 people at the airport – probably being rude.
They will be flying to Stansted, arriving at midnight and bussed to Bristol for 03:00.
I’m hoping to be home by 14:30 – and still time to enjoy Falmouth and some quality time with Annie before our special weekend guests arrive.
I can’t help thinking that if I hadn’t smiled and appreciated my check in guy – the night would have been very different.