Yeah so I sorta went a little crazy after my trip to Canada last week.
In general, travelling really stresses me out. It’s the worst kind of hell for me: close quarters with strangers, vague feeding schedule, inability to move for long periods of time, disrupted sleep schedule. My little world with all its so-called order gets turned on its puny little head.
Now add a blizzard and sub-freezing temperatures and I get a little bit fwango’ed. That’s right. I made that word up right here. Boo-yah.
Edit: Goddammit. I am so totally the sum of my environment.
On the way to Toronto (Pearson) airport at 5:00 AM, the taxi cab spun out on the freeway. No collisions, just a nice little trip across the lanes and back again. Poor driver. Am I really worth rousing a hard-working cabbie from bed at 5:00 AM during a blizzard to drive my sorry ass 45 minutes to the airport? In a freaking blizzard? I’m talking horizontal snow here. My existence on this planet confounds me.
Once at Toronto, the flight that I was supposedly booked on when I called earlier in the morning to rearrange my itinerary did not in reality get booked. As time wears on at the ticket counter, the ticket agent paints a slightly different reality in which flights to San Diego are about as common as space tours of Europa. Apparently, the cosmos decided that fair weather and a reunion with my family on Valentine’s Day was not an equation worth solving. When suddenly there appeared a glimmer of hope, a direct Air Canada flight right to San Diego. Another line, an extremely grumpy Air Canada ticket agent, and 6 hours later, I board the plane. An hour after boarding, an announcement that the plane is too heavy and must shed 14 passengers, either voluntarily or by evil computer. Lots more weighting, I mean waiting. Suddenly they decide that their weight issue is irrelevant, so we push back. Cheers from the fuselage. But not for long. Can’t get the right engine to start. Wait for maintenance. Wait for an open gate. Now we deplane. Change planes. Depart for San Diego about 3:00 PM Eastern. Arrive in San Diego about 6:00 PM Pacific, just in time for rush hour. I’ve not had a lot of sleep this week. Tired. So very tired. Probably need to pee, if only I could feel my bladder. No time. Urination is another one of those cosmic equations.
Finally get home, and the day hits me along with the weight of my bladder. So very tired. I refuse to go to work the rest of the week. My brain, she blows her fragile gasket. We’ll see how this all plays out this Tuesday.
This is nothing compared to what many others endured during The Great Bigass Blizzard of 2007 that Really Mucked Things Up for the Airlines. I don’t mean to complain. I’m grateful to all of the folks who made my successful journey possible. In hindsight, I should have postponed my return trip by a day or two. Nonetheless, the whole thing really stressed me out.




