Redemption at 30,000 feet

Redemption at 30,000 feet

27 March, 2007 | 7.47AM

• Section: Music News Topics: Industry Boy Blog
• Written by: Industry Boy

Run. Faster. Must go faster. Industry Boy gallops down the horizontal metal escalator in Miami airport towards gate number 57, nearly knocking over a fat kid’s ice cream. Now I know why Miami airport is also known as MIA. Missing In Action. Without an alarm, I had slept uninterrupted for eight hours. Briana’s snoring had woken me, and the time on my watch confirmed that I was well on course to missing flight number two.

Thankfully Troy had given me a lift back to the hotel, and I had packed my suitcase like it was only three minutes till the apocalypse.

At check-in the lady behind the counter was remarkably understanding about the fact my brother had just passed away.

The blag unlocked her heart and protocol, and she allowed me through.

With a triumphant exhalation, I collapse into my window seat, dizzy with adrenaline and lactic acid.

“You’re late young man,” states the old lady next to me. “We’ve all been waiting here on the plane for you,” she continues, snapping her big book shut. It was called the ‘New Testament’.

After take off, I reach for my MP3 player. I wanted some Ibiza chill out music to coax me gently into sleep, but the old lady next to me was intent on striking up a conversation.

She cracks: “Where have you been then? Why were you late for the plane?” I notice her crucifix.

“You smell of alcohol, and you’re bleeding from your arm,” she says. The alcohol smell was from the last week of raving, the scratch on my arms were from Briana when we had been rolling around in bed.

“I’ve just finished work in the pub where I’m a barman, and I fell over whilst running for the plane,” I offer. She responds by curling her lower lip, and frowning looking confused.

The headphones go in, and as the plane hits a cloud of turbulence, the old lady taps me on the shoulder. She now has some thick glasses on.

“Do you know the seven deadly sins?” Are you fucking serious? “I’m afraid I’m not a religious man,” I say.

“Nonsense,” she replies. “We are all God’s children.”

She then starts reciting the sins out loud: “Lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride.

“No doubt, you’ve committed a few of those in your lifetime,” she utters, looking over her glasses down her hairy nose at me.

“Actually madam, I committed all of those sins in just the past week,” I say.

“Lust? Yes I had sex with a girl.

“Gluttony? I overindulged in drink for sure.

“Greed? Despite having sex a really gorgeous girl, I wasn’t satisfied.

“Sloth? I lied around on sunloungers for most of Sunday.

“Envy? A lot of the men in South Beach had big muscles, and I wish I had them too.

“Pride? Yep, after screwing that girl I was tremendously proud of myself and walked around like I was king of the jungle.

“Wrath? Hmm, let me see, that’s a hard one,” I say, looking around the plane like I’ve lost someone.

“Oh yes, wrath,” I continue, lowering my voice to a growl and focusing down on the preacher.

“If you don’t shut up and leave me alone, I will give in to anger and will probably strangle you.”

The bible basher didn’t say a word for the rest of the flight. Somewhere up high above, an old bloke with a big beard crossed Industry Boy’s name off a list.

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