I really thought it time to call the pillocks-in-charge over at the Ligne d’Azur, the public transport net in Nice, about their exercise plan for obese and non-obese would-be (pfff, yeah right!) passengers. I asked the disgruntled lady of customer service (LOL!) to speak to someone in charge in their control tower, concerning flights over or anywhere near Mont Boron, where we live. She replied that they ran a bus service. I said: “Really, Madam!!? Opinions are divided on that subject. Did you know that it is impossible to actually see a number thirty bus, because the human eye is incapable of discerning it. The only way to know or rather to presume that one has passed in the vicinity is by the sonic boom that one may hear reverberating through the valley at irregular intervals.”
She interjected that surely it could not be that bad… To which I continued: “Madam, the only time I have actually seen a number thirty bus was two months ago, when one was revving its engines at a bus stop in town, just as my wife and I rounded the corner. We proceeded to sprint for dear life to catch it, only to watch the pilot advance his charge by exactly one foot, thereby indicating that he had left the terminal. We pleaded with him on our bare knees to let us board. He merely shook his be-goggled head wearily and pointed at a nearby hotel. Did you know that the Spanish have initiated negotiations with the locals about starting up a burro service around here, which would at the very least enable us to get from A to B, without having to leg it, and this for the price of a few carrots?”
At this point the lady excused herself, nowhere near profusely, saying that it was time for her lunch break and to please call back sometime tomorrow, to amuse her further. I should not forget to ask for Monique! I quiver in anger and despair at this airline.