Ryanair vs Easy Jet

I had quite the weekend. Last Friday I flew to Rome (with Ryanair) thinking my last hours on planet earth had presented themselves. There was so much turbulence that the plane didn't stop shaking and it took about 50 minutes to actually put the plane down. Another five minutes and I would have had to search for one of those cute little paper bags. Felt sick all evening but still couldn't pass up on my future mother-in-law's home made pizza. Last weekend was the last weekend I flew to Rome before moving in January. The Italian will be spending the holidays Belgian style and then we will go back together. Writing this I get kinda nervous. Not so much for the move, but for all the things I still need to do. I'm the master procrastinator.

On Monday I flew from Rome to Milan for a job interview. I think it went alright. I had a talk with the Italian H&R manager from the company I work for now. He told me, what I already knew, that they didn't have a job opening in the company we have near Rome, but that he was going to see if he could do something for me anyway. It was a very long day, but I figure that it's never a bad thing to know people like him (read : with his connections).

The flight from Rome to Milan was the first time I flew with Easy Jet. I had made sure I took the smallest trolley I had so I didn't have to check in any baggage. The (young) girl behind the check in desk then decided to show me what kind of power she had. She asked me to please check if it would fit in one of those iron baggage size things. It didn't ofcourse. The little wheels must have stuck out for about half a centimeter. I had woken up at 6 and had a headache from hell, so I wasn't particularly very amused by this. She got very rude in telling me I couldn't take the baggage with me. Ofcourse when checking in for my Milan-Brussels flight (again with Easy Jet) about twelve hours (!) later, the nice (older) lady at the check in didn't see the problem and let me take the trolley as hand luggage.

I blame the Italian. He was with me checking in in Rome, and the rude girl was obviously struck with the 'Foreign Girl Has An Italian Boyfriend and Therefore Is Taking Down My Chance Of Happiness By 1' -fever.

I say to her : go find yourself a Belgian guy and we'll call it even.