There’s one great thing about working full time: you TOTALLY appreciate your time off. I’d say this is the best holiday I’ve ever been on just because I can compare it to my life at work. Like yesterday, I was floating in the beautiful, sparkling ocean, which was lovely in its own right, but what made it even better was the fact that I was thinking of those poor souls at work, probably consoling an angry customer who was just told they can no longer be seen for their appointment as they arrived 20 minutes late (ugh, people), and counting down the minutes to their second break.
But seriously, if you don’t have a full-time job, get one just so can experience this blissful FREEDOM! I’m not just content here, I’m ECSTATIC that I don’t have to wake up to an alarm; that I can read all day; that I can have a cocktail whenever I want; that my life is one big break and not just two tiny half an hour ones; that there’s time to write, time to sleep, time to EAT, time to do whatever I want.
So this is day two in Gran Canaria and so far, I’ve learned that the older you get, the less you are willing to put up with bullshit. I feel kind of bad now for how I’ve always seen my Dad as this angry, grumpy, impatient consumer, constantly annoyed that things are not meeting his standards, but really, he’s just a victim of his age. I started to think this around the same time I was in the airport with my Mum for about four minutes. It was strange, she was behaving the way that Dad usually does. She was rude to the check in staff (he kept turning his head as he was speaking to her, making it hard to understand him); she was affronted at the price for a cup of tea; the plane was far too cold (then it was far too hot); she pointblank refused to move from the aisle seat that she had paid for especially (she was asked to move so a guy with a BROKEN LEG could have more room), and anyone who tried to skip a queue…well, I don’t really want to get into what she did then.
So here I was, confused. Why is Mum behaving so much like Dad? She was always the sanctuary, the nice one, the good cop. But then, it hit me: SHE’S OLD. Ok, maybe not “old”, but older. She’s the same age Dad was when we first started travelling. Tragically, Dad hit his grumpy old man stage around the same time I hit my grumpy-OMG-my-parents-are -so-embarrassing stage. Those were turbulent times, but at least with Mum, I’m in my laid-back-23-year-old-alright-with-who-I-am-and-who-my-family-are stage. I can just watch Mum wreak havoc with calm amusement (although, I did flinch when she made the poor guy with a broken leg hobble to the end of the plane, OH THE SHAME).
I was also slightly chuffed that I’d have a few good stories to tell the aunties when we arrived, but instead of being hit with guffaws of laughter and “oh stop, you’re too funny(s)”, I was met with “I would have refused to get out of the seat as well”, “Bloody Ryanair – more RyanIDon’tCare HAHA”, “kids these days just MUMBLE! You can’t hear them at all”, and “Tell me about it – THREE EUROS for a cup of tea!”.
Yep, they’ve gone old too.