…of an incident at the airport in Marrakesh; of a belief in one’s own innate superiority.

The scene: Marrakesh airport, around 3.30 on a hot afternoon. The four doors to enter the departure lounge are each hosting a queue of around 60 people, as the security checks now involve passing baggage through a scanning machine positioned directly behind each door.

The cast: Him – a slightly ragged Berlusconi lookalike with navy blazer, probably 10 years younger than Silvio; Her – a younger Naomi Campbell-ish type, Amazonian, dressed head to toe in black leather with high heels; the porter – a local middle-aged man pushing their baggage on an airport trolley 10 or 15 metres behind; the crowd – the rest of us, a mix of nationalities, mainly French, German, Moroccan plus a variety of English-speaking all queueing in the sun.

Him and Her enter from the right, followed by the porter, walk directly to the front of the nearest queue. He, walks straight through the queue and through the metal detecting arch, seemingly with the approval of the Security and Police milling around. To be fair, he is fairly unremarkable to look at and probably went mainly unnoticed. She however, is not unremarkable, She is quite the opposite and because She draws attention, people notice that She is intending to follow Him pushing through the queue. The crowd get restive, people start blocking Her path and arguing with Her. She is distinctly perturbed by this and pushes back. The incident gets verbal and voluble, quickly.

Eventually She is through, following Him, apparently with some assistance from Security. The crowd is distinctly unhappy and will not let the porter through with their bags. Now Security insist that the owners of baggage must accompany their baggage through the check. She comes back out and tries to forge a way through the crowd ahead of her porter but fails as the crowd refuse to budge. Another verbal stand-off. He, has remained the other side of the check, chatting with with various men dressed like guards. Eventually She tires of this and forces Her way back through again, leaving the porter and their baggage outside.

Him and Her wander further into the airport, away from the windows although still visible. At this point the porter appears to suddenly think “fuck it”, throws his hands in the air and wanders away from the baggage and trolley. The crowd begin to cheer him sensing comeuppance. There is more fuss and bother as he turns round and has one last go, but the queue bar his way again. He has been left in a completely unfair position. He is probably on a relatively healthy tip (for Morocco) if he can get the bags through. ¬†Someone vaguely airport official looking comes back through, more words are had with the porter – not by Him and Her who have by now disappeared from view – he grabs the trolley, hastens along the concourse and pushes his way into the front of a different queue.

I presume that our two “celebrities” are reunited with their baggage and continue to repeat this performance through the next 5 queuing stations in the airport.

Assumed privilege sucks. Any privilege sucks. Join the queue: The End.




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