Just more bad luck

It all began with bad luck at the airline counter. After queuing with the hordes for the better part of half an hour, well, like, at the end of the queue ’cause I was a bit late getting there, they told me the flight had been overbooked and my seat had been given to someone else. I mean, there I was, having to get to Port Douglas and they’re telling me I can’t get on the flight!!!??? In this contest thing at work, I’d won a free week at the Paradise Resort in PD and decided to take it up; it was a little nerve-wracking, but everybody said you can’t turn down something like that, can you? Anyway, I didn’t like being told I couldn’t go, and I didn’t like how my plans were going to have to change, and, well, it put me in tears, sobs actually, and I’m not sure how it all happened but next thing someone had me by the arm and was saying there was a seat in first class and I could have it.

After I recovered from all the trauma, they pushed me onto the plane and I got seated on the aisle (wouldn’t you know it; not a window seat). I snuck a look at the person sitting next to me. It was an older guy; he turned and smiled and politely said hello.

I didn’t say anything! I mean, how could I??!!! – Because I was pretty sure it was Bob Dylan. Bob Dylan who I went to see at the Entertainment Centre night before last. Bob Dylan who I’ve loved ever since I first heard Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan. Bob Dylan who shaped my life! I mean, he’s old like my parents but he is still so cool.

I snuck another look. My god, it WAS Bob. I mean, it was really Bob Dylan. In the flesh.

I gripped the arms of my chair and tried not to have a heart attack right on the spot. A two hour flight! Two hours to sit next to Bob Dylan, having cool conversations. I could already imagine telling my friends about that.

I decided not blow this. I was already looking a bit dim, probably, not having been able to say hello when he greeted me. I started thinking about all the stuff I could say. Like, “Oh, Bob, I’m just this hugest huge fan of yours and could I have your autograph?” Puke.

So I decided to have a glass or two of the champagne they were passing out and build up some courage. They had nibblies and stuff there in first class, so I drank and ate and worked on my plan. My strategy. Service was pretty good, partly because all the stewies were coming and up and it was, like, “Mr Dylan this” and “Mr Dylan that”.

Then I went to the loo to work on my plan a bit more, and when I got back to my seat, he was sleeping. So I had another glass or two of champagne, and worked on my strategy, and then I fell asleep.

…And when I woke up we were down on the ground and he was gone. I couldn’t believe it. Like, GONE. Like, how’s that for bad luck?

Anyway, when I got out off the plane the sun was shining, which was good after three weeks solid of rain in Sydney. And the hotel was big and pretty gorgeous, but wouldn’t you know it? – I’d forgotten my sun hat and swimmers.

Like, really a record bad luck day.

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