Bad Fokker 50, Bad Fokker 50

I'd become one of those guys I despised soooo much. You know the ones, 6am, you're waiting in the airport 'holding stalls', dragging your increasingly heavy luggage , inch by inch, zig-zagging closer to the check in counter. Over the airport PA comes the call "customers booked for flight blah blah to blah blah, your plane is now boarding, please make your way immediately to counter 4 for check in".
I was the 'late guy' who then had to push my way past a hundred people who'd been waiting for ages. "Scuse me...sorry...thanks...oops, I hope that doesn't bleed, I'm sorry". It was then I became telepathic, I could hear their thoughts, loud, in my head! "Son of a _____, what an arrogant ______," and many other things I can't repeat here. Me - straight to the front, checked in within 20 seconds, and running for cover from the flaming arrows being hurled at the back of my large, inconsiderate head.
This flight was to Kalgoorlie. Instead of taking the larger Qantas type jet, I thought I'd save the company money, and go the smaller Fokker 50 type turbo prop. You know the type, the man spins the propellor to kick the engine into life then the pilot winds down the window and hangs his arm out to signal he's turning out onto the runway.
Some may call it Karma, some call it God's sense of humour, but that was the worst take off I have ever experienced in my life! The Fokker fish-tailed its way down the runway, like a 12 year old fish-tails his bmx bike on a gravel track. When we finally broke free of the tarmac, we then went on an eqiuvalent sensation to the 'Wild Mouse' roller coaster, but with better free fall. I tried to appear calm, pretending to read whatever magazine I could grip. The grip was no where as intense as the grip my buttocks had on that seat. You've heard of 'opposable thumbs', I had 'opposable butt cheeks'. For reassurance I looked to the faces of the experienced 'fly in - fly out' tough mining guys, decked out in very safe and bright Hi-Vis clothing. Their faces didn't reassure me! When a guy that has flown in these things 235 times has that 'I really should've stayed in bed look', you worry. After 10 minutes the roller coaster finished - butt cheeks eased - food trolley squeaked its way up the aisle - life back to normal.
For the record, the rest of the flight was great, even the flight back from Kalgoorlie to Perth, 2 days later, was smooth and uneventful ... until....
15 minutes out from Perth, toilet time for Beev. I sauntered in a relaxed but hunched 'John Wayne' fashion down the aisle toward the forward ablution facility. The large jet type plane toilets aren't too bad, the Fokker 50 toilets are a tad more (what's the real estate term for small?) 'cosy and easy care'.
Picture a 6 foot 4 inch man of ample frame inside a 5 foot 9 inch plastic vertical coffin.
I assumed the 'Rainman stance' (Dustin Hoffman -'Rainman' movie), hunched over, head cocked dramatically to one side. Can I point out I didn't mumble "fart, oh-oh, fart" or "I'm an excellent driver", and neither did I have Tom Cruise beside me. Anyway, at this opportune moment, we hit turbulence! Picture a large bug trapped inside a small jar, being shaken around by an inquisitive 4 year old boy. That's as close to what it felt like, as I could imagine.
Plane lands safely - thankyou miss stewardess - walk to terminal - get to car - comfy seat - "I'm an excellent driver" - smooth, flat - I love my wife - bad Fokker 50, bad Fokker 50!