Journey details: A short haul flight.
The scene: It's the mid morning. A small commuter plane. I'm sat next to the window in a two-seat row.
Passenger description: A young guy, maybe early 20s, sits next to me.
The review: There followed one of the most random conversations of my life. Utterly charming at all times, He introduces himself as Willy. I respond with my name. Then he gets into it.
Willy: “Where do you live now?”
Me: “New Orleans sometimes, but I’m based in London.”
“London, England?”
“Yes.”
“Can you get Courvoisier there?”
“Er…what?”
“You know. Courvoisier cognac.”
“Oh. Yes. I think so.”
“Do they have brothels there?”
(I actually mishear this for “brothers”) “Er…what?”
“You know. With prostitutes.”
“Oh. Yes. I think there are some. They’re not legal, though.”
“How close are you to Amsterdam?”
“About a 45 minute flight.”
“They have them there, right?”
“I guess.”
“Do you have highways in London?”
“Um. Yes. We call them motorways.”
“Nice. Those brothels in Amsterdam are legal, right?”
“I’m not sure. I think it’s decriminalised.”
“Yes. You got someone picking you up in London?”
“Er, no. I take public transport.”
“Man, you’ve got it aaaaaaaaaaaall worked out, haven’t you? All worked out. In advance.”
“Er, I guess so. I’ve done the journey a lot.”
“And you’ve been to Amsterdam?”
“A couple of times.”
“Man, you’ve got it aaaaaaaaaaaall worked out, haven’t you? Aaaaaaaaall worked out. I work for Wolfgang Puck.”
“Oh, that must be great.”
“Yeah. We got soups, pasta, burgers, salads, sandwiches, chicken salad, veggie pasta…(goes on to list what sounds like the full menu of a Wolfgang Puck outlet). You should try it some day.”
“I’ll try and do that.”
“Man. I’ve GOT to get me a plane ticket to Europe. What do you pay?”
“Well, it varies a lot depending on when you travel. It’s usually between…”
“I’m going to Amsterdam. For the Cour-vois-i-er. Man, you got it aaaaaaaaaall worked out, ain’t you?”
“Er…I…guess…”
"Oh yeah. Aaaaaaall worked out.
His curiosity sated and seemingly satisfied at how much I had things all worked out, he retreated into his magazine and didn’t speak the rest of the flight. Which was a shame. I had so many questions.
Verdict: Aaaaaaaaaall worked out.
Rating: 4/5
The scene: It's the mid morning. A small commuter plane. I'm sat next to the window in a two-seat row.
Passenger description: A young guy, maybe early 20s, sits next to me.
The review: There followed one of the most random conversations of my life. Utterly charming at all times, He introduces himself as Willy. I respond with my name. Then he gets into it.
Willy: “Where do you live now?”
Me: “New Orleans sometimes, but I’m based in London.”
“London, England?”
“Yes.”
“Can you get Courvoisier there?”
“Er…what?”
“You know. Courvoisier cognac.”
“Oh. Yes. I think so.”
“Do they have brothels there?”
(I actually mishear this for “brothers”) “Er…what?”
“You know. With prostitutes.”
“Oh. Yes. I think there are some. They’re not legal, though.”
“How close are you to Amsterdam?”
“About a 45 minute flight.”
“They have them there, right?”
“I guess.”
“Do you have highways in London?”
“Um. Yes. We call them motorways.”
“Nice. Those brothels in Amsterdam are legal, right?”
“I’m not sure. I think it’s decriminalised.”
“Yes. You got someone picking you up in London?”
“Er, no. I take public transport.”
“Man, you’ve got it aaaaaaaaaaaall worked out, haven’t you? All worked out. In advance.”
“Er, I guess so. I’ve done the journey a lot.”
“And you’ve been to Amsterdam?”
“A couple of times.”
“Man, you’ve got it aaaaaaaaaaaall worked out, haven’t you? Aaaaaaaaall worked out. I work for Wolfgang Puck.”
“Oh, that must be great.”
“Yeah. We got soups, pasta, burgers, salads, sandwiches, chicken salad, veggie pasta…(goes on to list what sounds like the full menu of a Wolfgang Puck outlet). You should try it some day.”
“I’ll try and do that.”
“Man. I’ve GOT to get me a plane ticket to Europe. What do you pay?”
“Well, it varies a lot depending on when you travel. It’s usually between…”
“I’m going to Amsterdam. For the Cour-vois-i-er. Man, you got it aaaaaaaaaall worked out, ain’t you?”
“Er…I…guess…”
"Oh yeah. Aaaaaaall worked out.
His curiosity sated and seemingly satisfied at how much I had things all worked out, he retreated into his magazine and didn’t speak the rest of the flight. Which was a shame. I had so many questions.
Verdict: Aaaaaaaaaall worked out.
Rating: 4/5
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