As sad as Charlie is to have to put her on a plane and
send her to hell, he (and I) are also thankful for a little respite.
Jade can be quite the challenge. She is a teenage drama queen, after all.
So her flight was at 10.00am this morning, and considering
the potential Boxing Day madness at the airport, we left a little earlier than
normal today.
There is also the issue of her airline ticket as well.
You see, her mother, in all of her wisdom, could not get a
‘child’ ticket for the time and date she wanted, so she booked an adult ticket
instead.
Now, call me stupid if you want, but I’m thinking that
they have ‘adult’ and ‘child’ tickets for a reason, right? To me, it’s so that when you rock up to check
in and travel, that Qantas can clearly see that the person travelling is the
person who the ticket is for.
What are Qantas going to say when we rock up with a child
who needs to travel on an adult’s ticket?
Jade has no photo ID, because in her typical Gen Y fashion, she has her
student ID. Well done champ. How are we gonna prove who you are?
So we get to the airport, and I realise that it’s been a
while since I stepped into the Qantas terminal; it’s all changed. Now, they have these check-in kiosk thingies,
that you just check yourself in with. It
spits out your bag tag, and then you dump the tag on the conveyor belt, and off
you go.
However, there seem to be so many Qantas staff running
around helping people that I wonder if it would’ve been easier to still have
the old check in counters with a human behind them. You wonder if technology is really any better
sometimes.
The bonus here, is that this change to Qantas’ check in
routine enables Jade to check in without a single person looking her
ticket. Charlie or I could have flown on
her ticket, and no one would have known.
Hello terrorists?
If you’re reading this, the door is wide open for you.
So, as we’re walking to the terminal, Charlie and I lag
back a bit, whilst Jade flounces ahead of us.
She’s wearing Daisy Duke’s that are painted on, and high heel platform
shoes. She’s more make up on than a Napoleon
Perdis make-up artist, and is about bouncing out of her top.
I feel old watching her.
She thinks she looks totally amazing, and Charlie and I think she looks
like Traci Lord, as she struts her junk through the Qantas departure lounge. I can see all the women looking at her
thinking ‘slut’, and the men looking thinking ‘jail bait’. *sigh*
When we left home, I said ‘Did you have the beauty machine
set to ‘whore’ today love, because fuck me…’
She didn’t appreciate it, as you could imagine, and the pronounced that
I didn’t understand her fashion sense.
I understand the way she’s dressed. I don’t think she really does…
So, I figure that society is gonna take care o’ that for
me, and she’ll learn soon enough what’s appropriate, and what’s not. Charlie and I telling her means nothing, so why waste out time. She’ll learn the hard way, as she always
does.
So, it’s time for her to fly, and she gives us both a kiss
goodbye, and waves happily (like the beautiful child she is) as she strides
into the gangway leading to the plane, and on to another adventure.
Four weeks of fun, neglect and no discipline for her.
For weeks of fun, neglect and no discipline for us.
Whom will get into more trouble, I wonder?
Boo-ya.
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