The strange case of the aeroplane and the knitting

I heard an item on the news tonight, about a woman who sued Aer Rianta for . . . for . . . well for what, I’m not quite sure. These are the facts as I understand them at the moment, but I probably got some of it wrong, so I’ll come back to you with corrections tomorrow if I find out any more. Essentially, here’s what it is. This woman was working as as a telephonist at Dublin Airport when a man with a “bin Laden-type” accent phoned to say that “there is a bomb at your airport”.

That’s it. There isn’t anything else. Those are the facts. All of them.

As a result of the shock, the woman suffered trauma and depression. She put on four stone weight and if a plane passed over her house at night, she had to stay awake until morning, knitting. When she went home after work, she saw imaginary mice running around the floor. Eventually, things got so bad that she took to the bed and didn’t leave it for a year and a half.

Dreadful, I hear you say, but what exactly has this to do with her employer (you and me)? The answer is, I don’t know. Some fucking nutcase phoned the airport with a bomb threat. The woman was a telephonist and took the call, as telephonists do.

Did Aer Rianta make a threatening call to itself? No, it did not.

Did Aer Rianta force the woman to stuff her face with mince pies and chocolate fatties, thereby piling 56 pounds straight onto her already-wobbly thighs? Of course it didn’t! Incidentally, the woman I saw on telly tonight was a lot more than four stone overweight. This was somebody who knows all about chip sandwiches, let me tell you. I mean, I’m talking somebody whose arse is made of scrambled eggs.

Did Aer Rianta force her to sit up all night knitting ? Certainly not!! Knitting? Knitting what? Willy-warmers? Who brought the wool up to the bedroom anyway, and why? What fool enabled this kind of self-pitying behaviour? Did nobody say “get up you lazy fat fucker and buy your own fucking wool what do you think I am – your fucking slave?” ?

Did Aer Rianta chain her to the bed for a year and a half? Please! The very thought of it. I don’t even want to think about the state of the bed. If you have the motivation to knit four hundred willy-warmers and eat a million chocolate fat-bastards, you surely have the energy to get the fuck up out of it and stop fucking wallowing.

And yet, Aer Rianta, on behalf of you and me, settled with her for 15,000 euros plus costs.

Why?

Serves them right for employing a fucking gobshite.

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