Wednesday, 30 March 2011

Death By A Thousand Cuts

Source: Captain Capitalism
My death by a thousand cuts took place in a claustrophobically small aircraft toilet, some thirty eight thousand feet about the Earth.

I had forgotten to pack a razor and had resorted to using the one provide in a cellophane pack by the airline.

Being early morning in the time zone I had left eight hours before didn't help my mood as I wrestled to open the packet in the small confines of the toilet cubicle.

The trick, of managing to keep any hot water in the stainless steel basin also eluded me.  It was then I discovered that the small tube of shaving cream provided was of sufficient vintage to ensure that it had hardened solid and could not be coaxed out, no matter how hard I squeezed.

Not to be outdone I resorted to using liquid hand soap form the dispenser attached to the wall.  The arrival of turbulence prompted the announcement from the stewardess to "please return to your seats and securely fasten your seatbelts".

It is the first and only time that I decided to disobey this instruction.  My shirt had been removed by this time to stop the liquid soap continuing its run and there way no way I was going to repeat the procedure after the airpockets had passed.

The hand held plastic razor was of the twin blade variety.  Not that I had any problem with reverting from the  usual four blade version I was used to, to this more primitive and flexible piece of plastic and sharpened steel.

The fact that razor manufacturers always seem to add another blade to their product on an annual basis I find slightly absurd.

A more apparent problem soon emerged with the first sweep of the blade across my chin.  Forgetting that the blade was of similar vintage to the tube of cream I was therefore mortified to notice that large bloody welts had suddenly appeared on my face.

I am not sure if it was the altitude, but blood seems to run more freely in a pressurised aircraft cabin.  There was no choice but to forget about shaving and focus on first aid with the help of a dwindling supply of paper tissues.

Thankfully when I emerged from the toilet as a bloodied version of the Australian comic Norman Gunston, there were few awake in the cabin to witness my sheepish return to my seat.

While Heathrow customs did look somewhat askance at my appearance, the rest of the journey into London proved uneventful.

However I learn a valuable lesson: I pack my owner blade razor and will never again try to use the complimentary airline version.

Enhanced by Zemanta

No comments: