Double Brandy

"If you're not going to speak to me civilly, or with a modicum of respect, then I am not going to continue this conversation," I said.  I even surprised myself at how assertively I said these words, then turned and walked away from the most unpleasant man with which I was having this conversation, to the sound of clapping from the others in the queue both in front of and behind him. I think I scored a few points there, even if unwittingly.

Aah the joys of doing airport transfers. I did them for two and a half seasons, working for one of the UK's leading independent tour operators and, by and large, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I have to admit (reluctantly) to an incy wincy bit of smugness, because each time I'd seen my coach-load of "going home" guests checked in and then walked through to arrivals to greet the newly landed, as yet pale-skinned arrivals, I always pinched myself and said under my breath: "I haven't got to board a plane! I'm STAYING!!"
 
I know; not very charitable, but at least I didn't share this smugness with my generally subdued and deflated guests on the coach taking them back to the airport, facing as they were the prospect of a flight home to a much cooler and probably wetter place.

The conversation with which I began this piece happened in the dead of night at Rhodes airport when I'd had to deal with a particularly ignorant man, who ought to have known better, since he was probably about my age, travelling with his wife and young son (I'd have guessed it was a second marriage/relationship, as the boy was only about 12), and hell-bent on complaining at every opportunity. I always had a slight problem if anyone wanted to complain, which fortunately wasn't all that often. I do like to pride myself on my people skills, though I shouldn't blow my own trumpet, I know. The man in question had been staying at Haraki, where the guests were usually quite refined and well-mannered. You don't get a lot of riff-raff staying at Haraki, but this bloke was the exception.

I should have known it was going to be one of those nights, because when the coach pulled up at some time after midnight to collect him and his wife/partner and son from their accommodation, he was ready with his barrage of complaints, starting with the fact that he'd apparently not been given a customer review form by the resort rep. This had obviously infuriated him, since he was evidently ready with a list as long as your arm of things to grumble about, in the hope that he'd be able to screw some compensation or a refund out of the company. All of the reps I worked with were kids. I know, I know, I'm afraid that you'll have to put it down to the way you view things at my age. Their ages probably varied from 18 to 35 but, from my viewpoint, they all looked like they belonged in comprehensive school!! That said, I found most of them very enjoyable company and grew quite fond of some of them. The problem was, that since I was quite evidently a couple of decades older than anyone else on the team, if a client had a question, or even worse, a gripe, they'd address it to me, since they'd assume that I was some kind of manager. I frequently had to explain to guests that I was simply a lowly transfer rep, a mere part-timer, even though I was all uniformed-up and quite senior-looking.

Anyway, I could go on at some length about this particular "guest" and his extreme unpleasantness, so I'll just move on with the comment that, since he'd been getting very, very heated about something quite trivial whilst waiting in the check-in queue for the return flight, and had begun to "F" and blind at me over the fact that he'd not received his "review" form, I ended up, having displayed a level of patience with him which was well beyond the call of duty, saying the words with which I opened this post. I'd been amazed and delighted when, as I walked away to gather my composure, the other guests around him had given me a round of applause, proving beyond a doubt that most tourists are very patient, nice, amenable people. I knew I'd done the right thing when, about ten minutes later, his young son came up to me whilst I was enjoying a chat with some other guests about their holiday experience, and apologised for his dad and asked me something in a very polite way. I remember commending him and suggesting that he could teach his father a thing or two about manners!

It was on this particular "red-eye" shift, as the Americans would call it, that I finally decided that my luck was in on the "tipple" front, wrong though I later proved to be. Let me explain.
 

My actual "boss" while I worked for the company was called Steve and he was the company's Manager for the South of the Island, based in Pefkos. A week or two earlier the team had been gathered around him at the airport, awaiting an incoming flight, when he'd whipped a couple of bottles of Metaxa out of his rucksack. There were probably about a dozen of us, all in the age group I mentioned above, with the exception of me, of course. Steve held in his hands two boxed bottles of Metaxa, one was a seven star and the other five. Value-wise they represented a lot of money and even more drinking pleasure. Steve had been given both by a gentlemen who'd found that he couldn't take them through passport control and had realised to his horror that he'd have to find a home for them before entering the departure lounge. Crestfallen he'd eventually simply given them to Steve, who now displayed them to his team with the words, "Anyone want to buy one or both bottles?"

OK, so Steve hadn't paid for them, but I suppose he was doing what lots of others would have done in trying to make a fast buck. I suggested that he may want to keep one or both of them, but he replied that he didn't like brandy. This, of course, was something which didn't compute to me!! Turned out that none of the team liked Brandy either and so his attempts to unload them for a quick profit failed dismally. Having learned that I did indeed have a rather soft spot for the stuff, he tried to get me to part with ten Euros per bottle, which, although representing a substantial saving over the retail price, would have probably got me kicked out of my own home by an enraged wife and sleeping under the car port for a week!! The pay for a transfer rep isn't brilliant and to have come home after having parted with twenty Euros for a luxury would not have scored me any brownie points chaps. Trust me.

A couple of transfers later I asked Steve, whilst signing in my coach-load of returnees once again at the airport office, what had happened to the bottles of Metaxa, hoping in vain that he'd still have them and would perhaps now be more willing to either simply let me have them or at least let me have them for a greatly reduced price. I was mightily saddened when he told me that he'd managed to unload them for a few notes to some bloke who'd arrived from the UK, hence making him very pleased with himself. Well pooey mooey! It just never happens to me I thought. Why don't I ever get some tourist thrusting bottles of the hard stuff at me?
 
So to the night when the holiday-maker from hell was verbally abusing me. A little later a smallish, balding, heavily tanned sixty-something returnee, who'd just checked in his baggage and needed to make his way to the departure lounge, left his wife at the bottom of the escalator and came up to me sporting a huge grin and an even huger (Huger? Let it go this time, alright?) rucksack.

"Scuse me, John," he said, reading my name-badge in a trice, "do you think you could take this bottle off my hands? Can't take it through to the departure lounge, can I." Wow!! I thought. Finally the gods were favouring me!! A free bottle!! At long last and about time too!!

"No problem," I replied, trying extra-hard to suppress my glee (plus my already-forming visions of cracking open a bottle of something heady as soon as I got home to sample my spoils), "let me have it and I'll see it's disposed of in the appropriate manner." Hah! I remember thinking, wait 'til I tell Steve about this then.
 
"Aw thanks." he continued, and then unzipped his bag, reached inside and drew out an as yet unopened 1.5 litre bottle of mineral water.