Blog Archive | Quotes Frantic | C'est What? | The Sodchucker Climbing | Hong Kong | Sydney | Canada Animations | Videos | Photoshops    Subscribe to Mitch's Website RSS

[ Back to archive ]

There was a reason, dear reader, why I told myself I would visit NB in August, rather than December. That reason was avoiding holiday travel. My sister, however, convincing little argument that she is, yelled at me (using swears) until I forgot the miseries of my past, stepped up to the Air Canada plate, and bought a Christmas Ticket anyway. I thought to myself "She's right. Who cares if it's a trillion dollars to fly to NB?" and purchased away.

The flight to New Brunswick was relatively uneventful. I made a stop in Hamilton, drove through Toronto. As usual, I enjoyed the commute from the Avis desk in the airport to Hamilton. As usual, I laughed out loud at the poor, poor people with whom I shared the 401, 403, 410, or whatever the hell highways I was on, laughed that they chose this commute as a viable lifestyle selection. Just to be fair, though, I shed a tear for those who had no choice.

I got to where I wanted to go in no time. I just navigate mostly via the force, reaching out with my feelings, as I am wont to do in times of crisis, like a good Jedi ought. Anyway, I did a day's work, drove back to the airport, and flew to NB. No problemos, at least, not that I can remember.

NB was a grand old time, though I've probably talked about it already enough. The flight home (this is a story about flights) was not so grand. I said goodbye to the family and hopped into the car with my dad. It started to snow. Ironically, earlier I had received a text from Ed saying it was snowing like hell in Vancouver, and I had worried it might cause delays. When I got to the airport, it was snowing a lot more. I checked the scoreboard: flight delayed, 15 mins. Not too bad. I could see snowplows plowing the runways. I could see technicians doing what looked like heating the engines of the plane. I could see baggage being taken back into the airport. Damnit. 2 hours later, we took off, but not after this little bit of helpful advice from a fellow traveler: "I almost hope we don't take off now... missed my connection in Toronto. I'd rather be stuck here than in the airport."

Shit. Now I was really stressed out. Me too! I thought. Me too! I would rather stay home too! I wondered if I could opt out of my flight. I figured it wasn't worth the hassle. I could hang out with Max and Heather and ... but wait, Max and Heather weren't in Toronto. Damnit. This, I decided, is going to suck.

Sure enough, we arrive in Toronto 30 minutes after my flight to Van had left. I walk to an information desk. No one is there. More people arrive. Lots of people arrive. Some guy arrives who looks like a total asshole pretty boy moron. (I am a scary good judge of character). He gets behind the desk, starts rooting through the paper, picking up the phone, pressing random buttons, smiling his douchebag smile the whole time. Now the help desk guy shows up. He's gay, I think, but not happy at all. He's pissed. Pretty Boy Moron starts to complain: "The in-flight entertainment on our flight was out, and so they promised us $100, and the people got coupons but were were too far at the back so we didn't get one, and .." I cut him off "Ugh, excuse me, lots of us have missed connections. Me and this guy were here first, so can you help us out please?"

Angry Gay Man solves my problems quickly and with a reasonable level of professionalism that did not require me to raise my voice. I was already booked on a 6:30 am flight. Not bad. Only 7 hours to kill in the Arrivals Hall.

Luckily I got yoga mats from my family for Christmas. I chose the Cuban family to be my companions, gave them a sheepish grin to reassure them I wasn't going to steal their things while they slept, and made my bed. Have I mentioned the joys of earplugs? The Cubans liked my yoga mats, for sure. I slept poorly, but I slept. It's disturbing to wake from a deep sleep and have strangers sitting next to you. It's embarrassing to wake up, put away your things, and stumbled off to find a hotel washroom. I'm sorry, Cuban family, for being weird. It was late. I needed to sleep. I'm sorry, Korean girl, for not offering you a yoga mat to sleep on. I know you would have thought I was a freak if I had, but I could tell that spending the night leaning on your luggage wasn't your idea of a super sweet vacation adventure.

I eventually got on a plane and watched 2.5 movies. I arrived in Vancouver, got in a cab driven by yet another Indian engineer, and came home. I slept. That day, I hung out with Colin all day, then went to the Not Quite Christmas Not Quite New Year's party at Ed's place. I drank a fair amount. The next day we watched Alien Versus Predator. Right when the movie ended I started to feel sick. I spent the entirety of the next two days nearly dying of a rare strain of Ebola Vancouver. I celebrated my birthday at Sparky's place (no drinking, no eating, no fast movements) which was very nice. Sparky bought me a great gift (a guide to dim sum!) And here I am. Still sick, still alive, and back in Vancouver. Might work tomorrow, might not. We'll see if I can breathe when I wake up.

Welcome to 2008 everyone!

Mitch out.

Robyn, 2008-01-01, 17:39:06 Happy new year!

Fran, 2008-01-03, 12:47:18 But the real question is, did you sit shotgun in the cab or backseat...?

Mitch, 2008-01-03, 14:56:48 As I approached the cab, I asked myself The Real Question: Do I sit in the front, or the back? I pondered my cabby's personality: gruff, which pointed towards backseat. I looked in the front seat for more clues: his backpack and umbrella(ella) sat in the footwell. Phewf. Mitch 1, Real Question 0. I would sit in the back.