High life
Flying into trouble
Taki
his has as much to do with high life as, say, President Reagan has to do with Remembrance of Things Past, but it never- theless took place at 30,000 feet, which I guess is high enough even for a certain Monsieur Petit. Let me explain.
It is the kind of horror story that we hear about when discussing modern travel with friends, but one that unfortunately took place on Pan Am flight 103 from London to New York last Sunday, 22 March. Alas, I was involved, but for once I was totally innocent.
I decided to fly to the Big Apple at a moment's notice after speaking to my agent. I booked myself on business class, and was assigned seat number 8J, on the top deck of the 747. It was a window seat. There was another gentleman seated on the other window seat across the aisle. The two aisle seats were empty. Just before take-off a couple came in and were assigned to them. The man was about six feet tall, well built, muscular, and wore lots of gold. The woman was English, tall, and rather loud. They first asked the gentleman sitting on the other window seat to move next to me in order for them to sit together, and after he declined, they asked me. My answer was polite, and to the best of my recollection as follows: I hate to be a bore, but the window seats on this deck are roomier, and as it is a long flight and I have a lot of work to do, I'd rather not. (There is a two-foot space running alongside the window bulkhead.) Neither of them said anything, but as soon as they had settled in their seats they began necking across the aisle. In fact it was one of the longest kisses I've ever had the misfortune to have to hear. They stopped only for the drinks the stewardess kept plying them with. After dinner, they both disappeared to the back of the cabin, where they sat on the floor and continued drinking. So far so good.
I read throughout the film, and when the captain announced we were overflying Boston, I got up and went to the forward lavatory to wash. The seat next to me was empty. Upon my return, however, the man was back, filling up his customs form. I waited for a decent interval, and then asked to be excused while I moved towards my seat. He blocked the way, and resumed writing. Figuring he was drunk, I once again very politely asked him to excuse me and tried again. 'Fuck off, you bastard,' was the answer. He also made a threaten- ing gesture with his fist.
Now I've been in tricky situations be- fore, but never one as embarrassing as this one. The aeroplane was full, and in order to sit down on my seat — and an expensive one it was, too — I either had to beg him to let me through, or try and remove him from the way. As I am aware of FAA rules regarding violence in the air, I did neither. I called the stewardess instead, and told her of my predicament. She, in turn, asked him to let me through, but when he declined, she threw her hands in the air and said: 'There is nothing I can do, and the captain is very busy right now.' Those were her exact words and I have witnesses to prove it.
The stewardess in question not only failed in her duty to warn him that she would signal ahead that he was using threatening behaviour — if she had I am sure he would have desisted — she made things worse by loudly declaring there was nothing she could do. Monsieur Petit, as the thug and bully turned out to be named, then became even more abusive, goading me to try and take back the seat I wanted so much to keep at the start of the trip.
I finally decided to push through, and did. As I got by him he threw a right-hand punch. I was expecting it and blocked it with ease. But then he grabbed me and tried to wrestle me back. But I managed to get a good choke-hold on him and subdued him while passengers screamed for help. When the head stewardess arrived, she saw me holding him down and ordered me to release him. She ignored my pleas that he would become violent as soon as I did.
Sure enough I was right. He first grab- bed a large pot of coffee which he emptied over me, and then attacked me again. This time I tied him good and kept him tied for the duration. Upon landing in New York, he was arrested and I was asked to tell my side of the story. Out of 12 men only one stepped forward to give evidence. His name is Adrian Marriette, he's English, and works for the Midland Corporation. The rest simply didn't want to get involved.
The stewardess gave confusing testi- mony, obviously knowing that the truth would show she had failed in her duty. My choice came down to pressing charges and then spending one or possibly two nights in jail — as he would surely countercharge — until a judge straightened it all out. Obviously I declined and went home four hours late. The moral of the story is that Noel Coward had it right long ago when he said, 'Why, oh why do the wrong people travel?' I say why, oh why did I ever leave London, fly Pan Am, and business class at that?
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