Thursday, July 14, 2005

Point?

I was informed today that I have a bad habit of starting stories (especially of the travel variety) on my blog and then never finishing them. Yes...yes, I do. Story of my life, actually. So it seems rather fitting that my real life bad habits are transferred online.

So, I suppose that now that I've acknowledged this particular bad habit, I'm supposed to fix it? Well, theoretically...yes. But not tonight...and I have laundry to finish and Champ Car to get ready for (yes, I know...I lead a very difficult life). So we'll all have to settle for the abbreviated version of my travels back to Edmonton:

- Air Canada hates me
- Sprinting through the London Airport is not an enjoyable activity
- Air Canada hates me
- I hate Dash 8's more everytime I'm forced to skulk into one
- How in the world does Pearson Terminal One not have building-wide wireless? Seriously?
- Air Canada hates me
- For future reference for any of you traveling types: if the person next to you cuts you off in mid-sentence, puts their seat back, closes their eyes, and puts on their headphones...it means that they do not want to talk to you. Ever.
- Again, for future reference, it is rude for you to announce "well, you'd better find something for both of us to do on there, or else I'll have to sit around and watch you type" when the person next to you pulls their laptop out to do some work.
- Air Canada hates me
- How is it possible that in the 1.5 hours between flights, I managed to make it on the plane...but my luggage did not?
- Air Canada hates me

Liberated at 10:08 p.m.

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Sunday, July 10, 2005

"There are only two emotions in a plane: boredom and terror" -- Orson Welles

A slightly dry and overly detailed account of my journey to Ontario last week, for your reading please (or to try to help you to sleep). The trip back here on Friday is still being delicately removed from the scar tissue in the back corner of my brain, but will make it on here shortly...it involved sprints through the London airport, obnoxious Americans and lost luggage. Good times.

  • 8:30 am - Drag my ass into work. Late. Shiny new suitcase in tow.
  • 11:00 am - Jump in some scary cab and head to the airport. Stupidly accept shitty middle seat without thinking about it.
  • 12:45 pm - Elbow my way onto the plane and play the "who's going to sit next to me?" game. You know, the one where you eye every person who comes close to your row and debate whether they'd be a good neighbour? I will soon lose this game horribly.
  • 12:46 pm - Ooh! I discover plugs in the seatbacks, meaning that my laptop will last me the flight and then some. This could be the only good thing that Air Canada does for me on this trip.
  • 12:47 pm - It finally clicks in that the plugs are only located in the window and aisle seats, while the middle seat is blessed with that stupid air phone. A nice young thing works her way into the window, and I confirm that I can steal her plug space.
  • 12:48 pm - My ever-so-friendly neighbour, now christened "Fendi", arrives next to me (in the aisle, no less). She proceeds to huff at me when I dare to cross my legs within two feet of her $5,000 worth of Fendi bags and $20,000 worth of various diamond jewelry. She is stick-thin, and I later discover that her eyelids don't completely close when she sleeps.
  • 12:54 pm - Take-off. Late. This will be the first of many "fuck you!"s to Air Canada.
  • 1:30 pm - Miss Congeniality 2? Are you fucking kidding me?
  • 6:45 pm - Land in Toronto. When did Toronto Tourism arrange to start having new arrivals spritzed in sweat and pollution when they arrive? Kinda memorable, but not entirely pleasant.
  • 7:17 pm - After some quality time spent with the baggage turnstile (around half an hour for those of you keeping track at home), I am pleased to discover my luggage also managed to make the flight and arrive at Pearson.
  • 7:30 pm - I also didn't realize that Toronto Tourism's master plan was for visitors to wander aimlessly around the Pearson parkade desperately trying to find their vehicles. Apparently they've spent so much money on that whole sweat and pollution routine that they ran out of money for signage.
  • 7:47 pm - Shit. Am I supposed to be able to drive on the 401? This. Is. Petrifying.
  • 8:19 pm - Still on the road. I can't help noticing that there are more power lines here than I have ever seen in one place. Although it might be worthwhile to note that, until a year or so ago, I really wasn't into the art of playing 'spot the transmission tower.'
  • 9:13 pm - Arrive in random, mid-sized southwestern Ontario city for dinner, absolutely starving because - unlike WestJet where you'll get a token 10 gram package of pretzels - Air Canada serves not a single solid food on the four hour flight.
  • 11:00 pm - Still driving. My spine is permanently twisted to the left side, for some strange reason...and it's starting to hurt.
  • 11:18 pm - We *finally* make it into town, which will now affectionately be know as G-town. Shockingly enough, in a town of around 7500 people, we seem to be unable to find the hotel. We're awesome.
  • 11:29 pm - Hotel! Right in the "downtown" (do small towns have downtowns?), but not of the utmost quality.
  • 11:34 pm - After a few minutes of standing around in the lobby, it becomes apparent that no one will be coming to the front desk to check us in any time tonight. One of my travel-mates volunteers to go ask at the adjoining bar, and returns with room keys. Yes, that's correct...we checked in at the bar. Fuck.
  • 11:37 pm - Trudge up to the third floor with various suitcases, binders, laptops, etc. No elevators in sight.
  • 11:40 pm - It's...well...a room. That's about all I have to say about it.
  • 12:00 am - Sleep. Finally.

Liberated at 1:42 p.m.

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Sunday, July 03, 2005

Yep, that's right. Did you expect anything less of me?

I'd just like to point out that I have 12 days left in Edmonton before I move. I have talked quite extensively about, y'know, packing and all of those related tasks - in fact, chances are that if you asked me what I was doing on any particular night you would have gotten "I'm going to do some packing and cleaning tonight" as a response. I'm sure that I don't need to tell you how many nights that has actually occurred.

Yep, that's right...I move across the country in 12 days and I have not packed a single box. I'm awesome.



Liberated at 8:58 p.m.

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