I’m at an airport, catching a flight to America with some friends, although I’ve managed to become separated from them.
That’s not my main concern though. I have a bigger problem.
It seems I need to complete not one but two rapid Covid tests before boarding the aircraft.
There’s a further complication. These tests are completely different to the lateral flow tests I’ve been self-administering for the past two years.
The contents of the kits are completely unfamiliar.
The first test seems to consist of a couple of little golden headphones, and a kind of thick red plastic splint which I need to use in conjunction with them.
The second test includes some softer earbuds and a plastic tray.
To make matters worse, I can’t remember where I’ve put the instructions, so I don’t know where to start with these new processes.
Lego in the prayer room
I figure I’ll find a convenient location where I can sit and work out how to administer the tests.
The various terminal buildings are widely spread across the airport – the place is organised more like a university campus than an aviation hub.
I stumble into a building that houses an old storeroom-cum-staffroom. A small amount of natural light from a back window illuminates dusty boxes of junk, along with plastic chairs and an area for making hot drinks.
Instead of attending to the urgent matter of the covid tests, I become distracted by my surroundings.
It dawns on me that the airport storeroom doubles as a chapel
The contents of the storeroom include boxed Lego sets from the early 1990s, including the biggest Space theme sets, which I coveted when I was a kid.
Unfortunately, this kind of bric-a-brac is catnip to me.
As I finally snap out of my nostalgic reverie and turn my attention back to the covid tests, I notice some people have started to file into the dimly lit room. The people appear to be uniformed airport employees from a variety of departments.
It dawns on me that the staffroom/storeroom also doubles as an informal chapel. These are religious staff members who have come here to worship while on break or between shifts.
The airline staff acknowledge me very cordially. It is pretty gloomy in the storeroom and I’m not sure that they recognise that I’m technically an interloper.
Still, I feel my status as a non-religious non-employee is likely to be an issue, if uncovered.
Sermon in the storeroom
My flight is 12.45pm and it’s already midday. I haven’t yet been through security or passport control.
I begin to panic. I decide I’ll leave and go to the gate with the covid tests.
At this point, I’m beginning to doubt my assumption that the tests are even a condition of my travel.
The small crowd is casual but alert, as if awaiting a morning briefing
I race back to the department lounge, but there’s a huge queue and I can’t see anywhere convenient to carry out the tests. Also, I see no sign of my friends, who must already be at the gate.
I should have done this earlier, I think. I’ve blown my chance.
I return to the storeroom/staffroom/chapel where the staff members are still arriving. They are unaware of my predicament and they talk to me amiably, accepting me like a regular worshipper – just part of the flock.
In the low light, I notice that people have gathered around a modest lectern. The small crowd is casual but alert, as if waiting for a morning briefing.
A woman approaches. She gently brushes her hand over a small piece of cloth that is attached to the slanted peak of the lectern. It drops down and unfurls over the front to reveal the sign of the cross.
She begins her sermon.
Impenetrable instructions
In the hush of the room, I try once again to investigate the covid tests.
I’m absorbed by my work but I still manage to pick up on the pastor saying that she is always heartened to see new faces at her services. A subtle reference to me, improvised with the practised warmth of a seasoned public speaker.
Somehow I’ve finally located a set of instructions, but reading them is a fussy process and there isn’t that much light to work with.
It all seems deeply unfamiliar, and it looks like the samples I provide will be processed in a different way to a typical lateral flow kit.
In a whisper, I ask a nearby worshipper nearby if they know how to use either of these new tests. (Surely airport staff, of all people, must be on very familiar terms with all the covid testing kits on the market?)
With a straight face, the man quietly explains that I need to put one each of the devices in my ears and insert another part of the kit in one of my nostrils. Then, I need to keep everything in place for five minutes in order for the test to be valid
I check my watch again. My flight leaves in 20 minutes.
I’m going to look like such an idiot.
