When I flew back to Sydney recently, there’s this little airport near Melbourne called Avalon that only has a couple of terminals. Because it’s so small, it’s rarely busy or delayed, and I was surprised when, after asking us to queue for boarding, we waited for another half an hour.
During that time, a call comes over the comm, addressing departing passengers – someone’s left a backpack on the plane. Then another – a suit bag. Then another – a makeup kit.
Eventually, one of the airport staff gets on the comm and says “Our apologies, boarding has been delayed so a cleaning crew could go over the plane. One of the passengers on the last flight was ill and… had a bit of an accident. You probably didn’t need to know that… but… there you go.”
And that solved the mystery of why people left the plane in such a hurry.
I felt a bit sorry for myself, until I realised the passengers on the previous flight probably had a worse time. All we had to put up was a small amount of eau de ass, covered with cheap orange deodorizer.