Con Person

I felt like a con-person the other day at the airport. Every con-artist finds a way to function; I could have stumbled upon one too.

I was in the car, dropping my grandparents to the airport. As soon as we reached, I jumped out of the car, ready to go to the airline counter to get wheelchair assistance for my grandfather. I know how irritating it is to have a car standing in the same place, blocking the entrance to the airport. I wanted to avoid that.

Standing at the airline counter, I watched the driver unload my grandparents’ luggage and arrange it on a trolley. A niggling thought rose to my head; I pushed it away.

My grandparents got out of the car; I watched them. A part of me knew I should go to them, but I was waiting for the wheelchair.

Finally, the gentleman with the wheelchair appeared. He helped my grandfather into the chair. I pushed the luggage trolley, while my grandmother walked beside us. “Oh no,” a thought in my head was saying, “oh no, oh no, oh no.” Yet, I cheerfully pushed the trolley and in a while, I waved my grandparents goodbye.

The car was gone. Of course.

My wallet and phone were in the car.

I walked around the airport. The car was nowhere.

Wincing, I went up to a slightly friendly looking lady. “Erm, excuse me, could I ask you to do me a favour?”

And as I asked, I thought about Saki’s “Dusk”.