The hard caress of a hand on my shoulder. The warm touch of a cheek against mine. An excited voice in my ear 'What do you have there?
I turned to see the overly animated face of a flight attendant. A flight attendant I'd only ever seen on my current flight. Or, as I prefer her to be known, a complete stranger.
I muttered something about Pet Rescue and hoped it would be enough to thwart her unwanted advances.
Further one-sided conversation ensued. The merits of Candy Crunch were extolled. I turned my phone off, turned it upside-down in my lap, and stared fixedly ahead waiting for it to be over. In time it was. Except for the play-by-play happening on a loop inside my head.
Meanwhile, my darling was dealing with his own terrors. The campervan with the pop-up roof in front of him discovered a few metres too late that it was taller than the height restriction on the carpark ramp. So my darling and the car behind him had to reverse back down and park in the 15 minute slots because the remainder of the park was now blocked off.
The van driver did also manage to extricate his vehicle from its concrete sandwich. By the time I emerged from the terminal he was busily explaining to the parking attendant that he needed to exit from the carpark, and the attendant was busy explaining that he couldn't because the exit was one floor up and that would entail him removing the top deck of his vehicle.
I imagine that later that night, when the steady flow of commuters dried to a trickle, they may be able to accommodate him driving out the in ramp. But, given there's a very large sign advertising the height restrictions and a free turn to exit if your vehicle exceeds them on the way into the carpark, I don't think the parking attendant viewed this as a priority. Certainly not the priority the driver thought it was.
Or he's still there, arguing.