Since I collapsed on the flight deck and proved that the coffee diet I invented is one of my finest moments to date, I have in fact been to a number of yoga classes.

 

Fitting it in around a roster that has me going East and West like an explorer in the middle ages is tough and although I decided against the yoga pants I feel I’ve acquitted myself rather well given my inexperience levels. The biggest surprise is the diversity of people attending the classes. I was expecting a room full of 20-year-old girls who make money taking pictures of their asses on Instagram, but there are all sorts present.

 

My favourite person in the class is this old lady who I reckon may actually have entered an entirely new century in her life, but I’ve never been a good judge of age, she might be 45. Who knows! The point is I’ve found something I really like and because it’s outside of aviation I don’t feel the normal pressure to perform and prove I’m the greatest ever. Don’t get me wrong, attending with Craig still makes me want to be better than him but that’s just mates being mates.

 

There are one or two people in the class who are balls deep in the yoga to the point they’re as annoying as people who do Crossfit, but I’m okay with it once they don’t tag me in too many Facebook posts.

 

One particular guy arrives in a hoody every week and he always has the hood up. We live in the desert it makes no sense! He walks in and takes the hood down like a fucking Jedi preparing to pull out a lightsaber. I wouldn’t mind, but under the hoody he’s sporting a pair of short yoga-shorts that practically have his arse cheeks hanging out for the poor old lady to see. This shit really boils my piss, but honestly I have no way of doing anything to him without him knowing it’s me.

 

Well at least that’s what I thought until I saw him getting on a flight I was operating to London. Now I am not one for playing on the job, I think my previous journal entries demonstrate just how professional I am and just how seriously I treat it all. But, on this day I decide that I’ve gotta make some moves.

 

I get his seat number from the senior cabin crew before we depart and then I put in place my gold-plated plan to fuck up his day.

 

Once we hit the cruise I do my standard public announcement to inform our passengers of our routing and expected arrival time at destination. Once I’ve managed to get through the boring nature of it all I spice up everyone’s day when I announce that the gentleman sitting in seat 50A is a straight millionaire who is celebrating his 50^th birthday and wishes to buy champagne for all who want some.

 

Thanks to some fantastic work from the cabin crew they capture every moment on a smart phone, which show his utter shock and horror as he attempts to tell everyone he’s not buying champagne. What’s worse is his reaction to the fact they would all think that he’s fifty because he is clearly under the age of thirty.

 

Suffice it to say his embarrassment lasts for the majority of the flight. He doesn’t even complain to the cabin crew clearly demonstrating just how shamed he was feeling.

 

In order to complete the job I set up a false Facebook account (painstaking effort) and upload the video to the yoga group-page. With any luck he’ll keep the hood up next time he comes in to the studio and save us all the embarrassment of seeing his arse again.

 

Welcome to the Dark Side, Bitch!

 

LJ