One of the biggest perks of my job is that I get to travel. Whether that’s to Los Angeles with NYX Cosmetics, New York with Shark Beauty, Paris with Givenchy or Ibiza with Barry M.
Now, just to make one thing clear here, I’m not naming and simultaneously shaming Barry M. This trip took place many, many years ago when I was still an assistant. Not only that, but the reason it went down in history as my worst trip, wasn’t actually their fault.
Let me explain…
When I was an assistant, the beauty director would delegate all the event and trip invites between the team. As the lowest rung on the ladder and the most excitable, that meant you’d be the one attending the party to celebrate Pixie Lott’s new false eyelashes, while your boss was at an exclusive Chanel dinner.
Those stripes don’t earn themselves.
There were also some events we had to attend - mainly because the brand was an advertiser with the magazine.
Now, I know for some people - my brother included - being told you’re going to Ibiza for the weekend for a party at Ocean Beach, is the literal dream. For myself however, it was a nightmare.
I am not an Ibiza girlie and I’m definitely not any kind of beach club girlie. I’m a, ‘I’ll pack diving sticks and Splash Uno’ kind of girlie, you know?
It’s fair to say then, that I was cursing my boss as our hen and stag do rammed Ryanair flight left the tarmac and I made attempts at conversation with the much younger influencer sat next to me.
One of the things that forces the social anxiety out of you in this career, is that whether it’s a dinner, an overnight stay or a weekend in Ibiza, you never know who else is going to be joining you.
In my case it was a small group of influencers and two competition winners from Wigan, who, to be frank, I would have been lost without.
This trip was in peak ‘curate your Instagram grid era’. Think Amelia Liana photoshopping tropical birds into a sunset image of the Eiffel tower levels of contrived.
The vibe was immediately evident when, after waiting in the hotel reception for 30 minutes, we realised the influencers had left for Ocean Beach without us.
Upon arrival, we discovered they had ordered these gigantic floating platters of food and drinks, purely to take pictures with. I don’t know what was worse, the fact that they had shamelessly ordered it on the brand’s tab without asking or the fact that while we were waiting for them, the PR explained we would be given tokens to exchange for drinks that were a specific price point.
Let’s just say, it wasn’t a platter price point.
As I stood there in my Accessorize white kaftan (purchased at the airport), I surveyed the crowd around me and it was every bit as horrendous as I expected.
There were so many suspiciously hairless men standing round the pool holding bright orange plastic flutes. Amongst the crowd there wasn’t a single natural tan and I found myself wondering what all of their combined sunbed minutes must be.
No lie, it felt like one of the longest days of my life. Just sitting on the edge of this gigantic pool that no one was swimming in and watching groups of boys high five one another whenever a girl walked in their direction.
Eventually, by the time I was cold and shivering due to the lack of alcohol and or other substances not coursing through my veins, we got to leave and I can still remember climbing into bed and thinking ‘just one more day’.
I had big plans for the afternoon. It was our free day and I had a date with the local supermarket for a gigantic packet of Cheetos.
However, I hadn’t even left Winterfell in my Game of Thrones book when the peace around the hotel pool was disturbed.
The influencers had arranged to use the free time as a content day and while I was turning the corners of my book orange with my cheese puff-stained fingers, they were setting up opposite me. Photographers and everything.
So, you can imagine my joy when we headed off to the airport later that evening.
In 2 and a half hours, I’d be back home and this whole ordeal would be a distant memory…
I still don’t know how it happened. I was stone cold sober, the only person in the entire Ibiza airport looking forward to work the next day.
As we were all heading off to different destinations, it was just me and one other influencer on the same flight back to London. We sat in silence while we waited and it was only when I realised there hadn’t been any announcements that I went to check the flight board.
Two words that would kickstart anyone’s bowel movements: “Final boarding”.
I grabbed my suitcase, grabbed my travelling companion and headed to the gate. She was less concerned and decided to pop into Hard Rock and buy her boyfriend a T-Shirt.
I told her I’d see her on the plane.
Except, I never got on the plane because when I got to the gate there was just one women who judged me as much as I judged everyone at Ocean Beach.
“NO. GATE CLOSED.” This clearly wasn’t the Spanish Jane from Airline’s first rodeo, but it was mine and not only were my eyes pricking at the thought of staying in Ibiza a moment longer, but also at the trouble I would get in at work.
Next thing I know, my travelling companion arrived and immediately began raising her voice and crying.
Somehow seeing her hysterical made me pull myself together. She was so upset, I truly thought she’d get us on the plane. She was really pretty after all.
Turns out good looks don’t get you everywhere and It was decided that I would be the one to phone the brand to tell them what had happened.
Understandably she assumed I was the older and more sensible one. Little did she realise that although I was more advanced in years, I was still clearly incredibly stupid.
Turns out that because the brand had got us to the airport and it wasn’t their fault we missed the flight, they wouldn’t buy us new tickets.
At this point in my life, I cannot express to you how skint I was. I was on an assistant’s wage, with a maxed out overdraft and a soon to be maxed out credit card.
As poorly as my life was held together though, I somehow managed to take charge of the situation. My influencer friend wouldn’t stop crying and was trying to phone her dad, while I queued up at each of the airline desks trying to get 2 seats out of Ibiza that night.
The only thing keeping me going when I was hit with another, “all flights full”, was the thought of staying another night in this place.
Turns out the only free flight was the most expensive, but I handed over my credit card to British Airways and booked 2 seats.
I think the wait time was around 5 hours. The same amount of time I’d sat in misery at Ocean Beach. I was grateful that we didn’t bother with any pretence and stayed in silence most of the time. No doubt cursing one another.
All I remember from the flight is that when we finally landed, she cried. I didn’t understand that part. I was so happy to be home.
I never told my boss about my ordeal, for fear I would get in big trouble. After all, I was there representing my company and it was my fault I’d missed the flight. Of course my former travelling companion paid me back once we landed in the UK, but I’d still had to take the hit on my ticket.
I’d like to think if the situation happened now, I’d handle things differently… mainly because I’d never be on the trip to begin with.
Laura, my mouth was dry as I read this 😅 That would have been, and still would be, hell on earth to me, as well. Well done for reliving it in words..! X
The memories that came flooding back to me while reading this made me shudder 🥲🫣 great piece x