I was sent to sit in a corner to consider my crimes.
I sent out a mayday email.
And received the surprising reply that the spacecraft seat ticket HAD been booked correctly as a cabin baggage ticket.
But perhaps because it had been booked separately to my own ticket, the Airline had automatically switched this to a regular human ticket.
I guess cellos don't usually fly solo. But couldn't this guy fly solo? Course he could!
I didn't think I dared check the spacecraft model. Despite the protective case, I doubt it would survive the jostling.
If they forced me to check, the safest option would be for a friend to come to the airport and retrieve model, leaving me to fly without it. But there now might not be enough time, as airports are never central ⏰
Could I promise the spacecraft wouldn't eat an airline meal?
Or should I promise I would eat TWO meals, to make it look like a human was in that seat?
Could I declare the model an emotional support spacecraft?
(I do appreciate emotional support animals are genuinely very important.)
I was pulled out of purgatory and back to the counter.
Seatbelt extensions had been found and apparently prepared for both legs of the flight.
The new cabin bag ticket was likely (although not guaranteed) to be cheaper than the original ticket purchased, so reimbursement should not be an issue.
I handed over my credit card.
And went and bought an emergency bag of crisps and bottle of water.
Gin might have been more appropriate.
After a significant and inexplainable chunk of time, I was finally handed a boarding pass.
"Your flight is about to board," I was told. "So, we'll help you get through security."
I nodded.
And wondered.
At what point.
Should I mention.
The asteroid grain.
I was taken through the crew security line by a (still remarkably cheerful) attendant.
"I learned a lot today!" she sang at me.
"...Me too..," I replied while trying to smile.
Like how to refuse anything more complex than escorting a plushie overseas.
Perhaps because we were all exhausted, not a word was said as I pulled out the case containing the asteroid grain, rotated the sample container so that it could be held horizontally, & sent it through the X-ray scanner.
We were going to fly.
“Boarding is now at 11pm”
I was politely informed as I tumbled up to the gate. Two thing occurred to me:
(1) heavens be praised! I could use the bathroom.
(2) the flight had been scheduled to leave at 10:55pm. Was the delay due to me? I scanned the room of seated passengers and tucked the model box (which frankly looked like it might contain human organs) behind my legs.
Nothing to see. I’m definitely not the problem. No.
“Ha! You must have had a rough time!” A cheerful British couple called out to me as I headed to the seating by the gate. “We saw you at the check-in desk and then everyone left apart from you!”
I grinned, was about to say everything was fine, when two airline attendants appeared.
“Sorry to interrupt. Could you come with us?”
I KNOW MY RIGHTS! (I wanted to shout) I WILL NOT GO QUIETLY!
(Spoiler: I did go quietly.)
“This contains a spacecraft?”
I opened the case to show the cabin crew.
“WHOA! Is that the real spacecraft that went to space?!!”
I mean that WOULD be cool, but the real Hayabusa2 is 20 times the size, still in space and no way would I allow what was about the happen.
I handed the case to the cabin crew.
They wanted to strap the model into its seat before the main boarding. I accompanied them through the gate to the aeroplane door but then permitted the case to be squirrelled away.
I was in limbo land.
Having scanned my boarding pass to accompany the model to the plane door, I was then left to roam the empty hallway until boarding could begin. The wheelchair users went ahead, but I was allowed to board with the parents of young children.
I found my “child” neatly strapped in. I noticed it had bagged the window seat.
A lady came and sat down on my right, giving me and my model an askance look.
Body parts. Full of human organs. She was sure of it. I could tell.
I took the beef curry. The model didn’t get anything, since it had failed to keep its human ticket.
We’d made it to Singapore.
A bag scan was needed at the Singapore gate.
My laptop slid through.
The model slid through.
And then came the case containing the asteroid sample.
“What is this?”
I took a deep breath.
“It is… an asteroid sample.”
I waited. My hand inched towards my laptop with hours of presentations on Hayabusa2.
“Huh. OK.”
The attendant turned to her colleague.
“It’s an asteroid,” she said in a tone that implied they’d seen 72 others in the last week alone. Just a chip from outer space. Again.
🤨
