I was woken yesterday morning by my flatmate, Reece, chatting to his friend on the phone. A few words drifted through: flight, Thailand, Monday, Johnny, f#*king. Being roused from slumber and it being the normal chilly, windy, rainy time to prepare for the ride to work, I left the cosy confines of bed and made my way one-socked downstairs to see what the hullabaloo was about.
My still-slighty-intoxicated flatmate informed me that after work (at a nightclub where a meagre hourly wage is supplemented by a not-so-meagre apportioning of liquor) he got online and booked a flight to Thailand for the coming week. He was going to go with his Irish friend Johnny who had exclaimed, in true Irish form, that the trip ‘was going to get f*%king retarded’. Reece was somewhat chuffed at obtaining return flights for only 700, only to later realise (at which point I’m still unsure) that he had indeed been navigating a British website and that the quoted 700 was in Pounds sterling.
It later emerged that he’d checked the price multiple times, oblivious to the fact it was preceded by a £ sign. He’d also passed on the right to purchase the ‘right to refund’ should something go astray. Fortunately, the exchange rate is somewhat favourable so that, even if his frantic post-booking ‘please scrap that and refund me’ email should fall on deaf ears, he’ll ‘only’ be out of pocket by around $1500.
The moral of the story, I guess, is: If you’re get booked for drunken driving, you’re a fool. If you get driven for a drunken booking, you’re on your way to becoming ‘f$£king retarded’…