Merry Christmas Eve-Day-Eve!
I had a great day of skiing on Blackcomb on the 21st, followed by all-you-can-eat sushi for $11.95 (yeah, that's right), yesterday. Gum surgery went well, although my jaw's slightly enflammed today. So much fun.
Here's a journal entry I wrote on the plane coming home:
Dec. 20, 20031120am EST
Running on only 25 minutes sleep in the past twenty eight hours, I had the unfortunate experience of running into the worst displays of airport management ever exhibited in this country. It was only because everyone else went through the same thing that I made my flight, and also the reason why it took off a full hour later than scheduled.
After arriving at the airport an hour and twenty minutes before my flight was to depart, I soon realized that this previously generous allotment would most likely not be enough to get me onto my plane. While I was able to use the 'express' check-in to acquire my boarding pass, I was corralled into the general luggage drop-off lineup which extended all the way to the end of the terminal, doubled-back and turned into a series of queues from there. I was fortunate enough to run into a friend of mine from McGill who lives in Whistler, and at that moment we were both on the same flight, but her seat reservation had been changed for some unexplicable reason. Either way, we both figured we were in the right lineup, especially after I asked an Air Canada representative how long this particular queue would last and not being asked where I was going. If she had asked this simple questions, much may have been avoided. As it turns out, apparently there was a line devoted solely to Vancouver flights (despite no signs telling us weary, sleep-deprived passengers where to go) - and they had told the people waiting in line for flight 111 that they were announcing the last call - something I didn't hear. It wasn't until this friend of mine and another Vancouverite I recognized told me that this line existed and that I had to run to the front of the check-in counter, deposit my bags and book it to the gate, that I finally made it to the final obstacle: security.
Now I admit, I'm a pretty suspicious looking character. Maybe it's the khaki pants, gap sweater and glasses that act as a giant neon sign announcing to all: "caution: potential terrorist"; or, it could be my suspiciously supersized height that really raises the red flag: "could this guy really be that tall, without taking any growth agents? I'd better be extra cautious." Well, whatever it was, the Mr. X-Ray Guy found a suspicious object in my backpack and asked if it would be ok to look through my bag. No, it won't be ok. I'd rather you not... So off he went, exploring the deep chasms of mystery that constitute my backpack, replete with discarded pens, kleenex and candy-wrappers, (Werther's, no less). After an abnormally long bout of rummaging, he finally found what he was looking for: my allen-key multi tool. I had no idea that I had left it in my backpack, for it's been a while since I had ridden my bike to school. If I knew it was there, I most likely would not have packed it, but not for fear of it being confiscated by security. What I learned was that air cops in the new world order consider a tool used to raise and lower one's bike seat or remove break pads can also be considered a tool for the crafty terrorist. With my flight ready to depart in less than five minutes, he threw down the ultimatum: check my carry-on baggage, including the multi-tool, with the appropriate authorities, or leave without it. As enticing as heading back into the airport, searching for this office, only to have to go through a security check moving at about the same pace as a lake freezing over with ice at the beginning of winter did sound, I opted in favour of ditching my favourite tool in order to guarantee my spot on this flight. Damn you X-Ray Guy, esti tabouac. J'espere que tu aimeras utiliser mon outil favorit, qui m'appertenait depuis la huitieme annee et que j'ai porte partout pendant mes excursions de velo. Oui, joyeux noel a vous aussi, petite espece de calisse.
Now that I've gotten that out of my system, something positive did happen once I stepped onto the plane. Seat 20H was actually the seat behind the emergency exit, despite having asked for the emergency exit seat itself. As anyone over 6'2 will realize, sitting in regular seats in economy doesn't make for a pleasant ride. For anyone over 6'5, an unpleasant ride turns into a nightmare.
Luckily, the seat was vacant for a while and I asked the stewardess if I could switch. She was happy to accomodate my request, however this was after a counter-proposal was put forward by the man behind me asking the same thing. It came down to who was taller.
- How tall are you? I asked.
- 6'4
- 6'6...
- Damn...
...and up I went.
The overcooked scrambled eggs and warm tomato for breakfast were certainly no match for John's lamb and rice on al-Saud (if that's not the name of the airline in Saudi Arabia, it probably should be). Luckily I brought the remaining perishables from my apartment along with me, comprised of two apples and a banana.
Let's hope I will never have to experience such terrible management, and particularly bad eggs (both literally and figuratively) that have characterized the past five hours. There's hope yet: Seabiscuit is today's feature presentation, which is great...if I can stay awake, that is...
I had a great day of skiing on Blackcomb on the 21st, followed by all-you-can-eat sushi for $11.95 (yeah, that's right), yesterday. Gum surgery went well, although my jaw's slightly enflammed today. So much fun.
Here's a journal entry I wrote on the plane coming home:
Dec. 20, 20031120am EST
Running on only 25 minutes sleep in the past twenty eight hours, I had the unfortunate experience of running into the worst displays of airport management ever exhibited in this country. It was only because everyone else went through the same thing that I made my flight, and also the reason why it took off a full hour later than scheduled.
After arriving at the airport an hour and twenty minutes before my flight was to depart, I soon realized that this previously generous allotment would most likely not be enough to get me onto my plane. While I was able to use the 'express' check-in to acquire my boarding pass, I was corralled into the general luggage drop-off lineup which extended all the way to the end of the terminal, doubled-back and turned into a series of queues from there. I was fortunate enough to run into a friend of mine from McGill who lives in Whistler, and at that moment we were both on the same flight, but her seat reservation had been changed for some unexplicable reason. Either way, we both figured we were in the right lineup, especially after I asked an Air Canada representative how long this particular queue would last and not being asked where I was going. If she had asked this simple questions, much may have been avoided. As it turns out, apparently there was a line devoted solely to Vancouver flights (despite no signs telling us weary, sleep-deprived passengers where to go) - and they had told the people waiting in line for flight 111 that they were announcing the last call - something I didn't hear. It wasn't until this friend of mine and another Vancouverite I recognized told me that this line existed and that I had to run to the front of the check-in counter, deposit my bags and book it to the gate, that I finally made it to the final obstacle: security.
Now I admit, I'm a pretty suspicious looking character. Maybe it's the khaki pants, gap sweater and glasses that act as a giant neon sign announcing to all: "caution: potential terrorist"; or, it could be my suspiciously supersized height that really raises the red flag: "could this guy really be that tall, without taking any growth agents? I'd better be extra cautious." Well, whatever it was, the Mr. X-Ray Guy found a suspicious object in my backpack and asked if it would be ok to look through my bag. No, it won't be ok. I'd rather you not... So off he went, exploring the deep chasms of mystery that constitute my backpack, replete with discarded pens, kleenex and candy-wrappers, (Werther's, no less). After an abnormally long bout of rummaging, he finally found what he was looking for: my allen-key multi tool. I had no idea that I had left it in my backpack, for it's been a while since I had ridden my bike to school. If I knew it was there, I most likely would not have packed it, but not for fear of it being confiscated by security. What I learned was that air cops in the new world order consider a tool used to raise and lower one's bike seat or remove break pads can also be considered a tool for the crafty terrorist. With my flight ready to depart in less than five minutes, he threw down the ultimatum: check my carry-on baggage, including the multi-tool, with the appropriate authorities, or leave without it. As enticing as heading back into the airport, searching for this office, only to have to go through a security check moving at about the same pace as a lake freezing over with ice at the beginning of winter did sound, I opted in favour of ditching my favourite tool in order to guarantee my spot on this flight. Damn you X-Ray Guy, esti tabouac. J'espere que tu aimeras utiliser mon outil favorit, qui m'appertenait depuis la huitieme annee et que j'ai porte partout pendant mes excursions de velo. Oui, joyeux noel a vous aussi, petite espece de calisse.
Now that I've gotten that out of my system, something positive did happen once I stepped onto the plane. Seat 20H was actually the seat behind the emergency exit, despite having asked for the emergency exit seat itself. As anyone over 6'2 will realize, sitting in regular seats in economy doesn't make for a pleasant ride. For anyone over 6'5, an unpleasant ride turns into a nightmare.
Luckily, the seat was vacant for a while and I asked the stewardess if I could switch. She was happy to accomodate my request, however this was after a counter-proposal was put forward by the man behind me asking the same thing. It came down to who was taller.
- How tall are you? I asked.
- 6'4
- 6'6...
- Damn...
...and up I went.
The overcooked scrambled eggs and warm tomato for breakfast were certainly no match for John's lamb and rice on al-Saud (if that's not the name of the airline in Saudi Arabia, it probably should be). Luckily I brought the remaining perishables from my apartment along with me, comprised of two apples and a banana.
Let's hope I will never have to experience such terrible management, and particularly bad eggs (both literally and figuratively) that have characterized the past five hours. There's hope yet: Seabiscuit is today's feature presentation, which is great...if I can stay awake, that is...
posted by Per at 2:35 p.m.
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