Writing for Fun
September 2018
The Endless . . . - Diane Silverston
As she walked through the double doors Joanne was worried. The sight that met her eyes wasn’t what she had expected. The hall was full. Full of people clutching coats, bags and suitcases, wending their way through the cordoned alleyways. The place was seething with bodies, noisy and bewildering. Where should she go? Which line should she join? They all looked long and endless.
As time passed everyone edged slowly forward, zigzagging across the hall, slowly moving but not really getting any nearer. How long was it going to take? People around her were happily chatting, in small groups, families or friends. But Joanne was alone, which made her feel even more nervous. She kept glancing to her left and right, but all the queues were the same, more people joining them as the minutes passed.
Time continued to tick away as Joanne snaked her way across the floor, following those in front, until at last there were only three people in front of her.
Suddenly she was called forward. Lifting her case onto the conveyor belt, putting her coat and bag into the grey tray, she walked through the portal, no bleeps. Retrieving her things she joined the masses wending their way through the Duty Free shops to the departure lounge. Even more crowded, people sitting, people sleeping, people milling about. Suitcases, trolleys and children blocking all passages.
Joanne joined the queue for refreshments. How slow could it get? Each cup of coffee individually made by an up-to-date but grindingly slow machine. Once armed with coffee in a cardboard cup and a baguette, Joanne made her way to the seating area. Once again masses of people, some huddled in groups nervously and constantly glancing at the information boards, some taking up more than their fair share of seating benches.
Eventually Joanne found a space, all be it tight, between a young couple and a family of five. Carefully she ate and drank. Her mind started to wander. What would she find at the end of her journey?
Suddenly there was a movement, like a wave, a whole group gathered up their belongings and headed towards the gates. Joanne glanced up at the board, no more new information for her yet.
It seemed hours later when a light flashed on the board beside her flight number, telling her which gate to head for. She gathered up case, bag and coat and manoeuvred past many outstretched legs and feet and headed for the train to gate 39.
Naturally she had to wait, yet another queue. Then squeeze herself into one of the carriages. Quickly she grabbed a rail before the doors shut. A few minutes later, the first stop, then onto the second. Here the train emptied and people hurried towards the escalators, another long queue to get on, one person following another, no other choice. Up then along, up again and suddenly gate 39 was there.
Joanne had thought that she had been as fast as possible, but no, there it was, yet another queue stretching ahead of her. She couldn’t see the start and soon couldn’t see the end. Would the plane hold all these people and their luggage?
Finally Joanne reached the desk. Her passport and ticket were checked and she joined the line of people down the escalator and out to the plane. Yes, another queue, climbing the stairs to enter. She found her seat, put her luggage in the locker, settled down, put her belt on and started to relax.
She had several hours of flight before reaching her destination. Joanne didn’t really like flying but it did get to places quickly. She glanced around, a real mixture of people, all shapes, sizes, ages and colours. Most very chatty and excited. Some looking a little nervous.
As time passed the noise became less, people relaxed, slept, ate and drank. The stewardesses walking up and down, checking. The usual meanderers going forwards and backwards to the loo. Joanne made use of these facilities, just a small queue this time.
After many hours, 2 meals, watching a film and some sleep, at last ‘Please prepare for landing.’
Another hour, then gathering all her things Joanne joined the queue to get off the plane, down the stairs, across the tarmac, into the bus. Arriving at the terminal, she and her fellow travellers walked through the passageways until they joined what appeared to be hundreds, waiting at passport control, each person stepping forward, being looked at, usual questions, then passing through into baggage reclaim, where each conveyor belt was surrounded by bodies, feet fidgeting, arms ready to grab.
After a long wait, that sound, the belt beginning to move, clunks as the luggage started to land on it. Endless cases of all makes and sizes passing by. Looks familiar? No not hers. Eventually there it was, Joanne’s case coming towards her. She grabbed, pulled it off the belt, stood it on it’s wheels and moved along.
She had arrived. She was here. No-one would be there to meet her. She would have to make her own way into the city and find her hotel. What she needed now, after endless hours of travelling was a taxi. She managed to find her way out and there . . .
Yet another queue!