Back to Calgary to teach another weekend

The dreaded security clearance



I checked in fairly quickly at YVR. No pretending where to go...I knew
exactly where to line up this time. Then I went and stood in line for
the security check. The lineup didn't seem so bad, so I thought I would
leave it and see if I could find a Georgia Straight to read. I did a
circle of the building and couldn't find one, so headed back to the
line up. Holy Jezus! I said to myself as I noticed the line up had
increased 30 fold! So I stuck with it and then noticed that it wrapped
and weaved to the security door, so that it would be forever before I
actually got a chance to get buzzed by the security guards. There was a
family with a cranky kid, and this kid's crankiness would cause his
baby brother to scream in hysteria. I hoped they weren't going to
Calgary, I said to myself. I was nearing the entrance when I noticed
Dark Peter wasn't there. I sort of missed his good nature as he turned
down bottles of dead love ones in shampoo. An east Indian gal was in
his stead and pointed me to the far line up. I notice that most of
these types of jobs are done by people of colour, east Indian,
Phillippino's and a few assortments of other types. Anyway, I was ready
this time: out came the laptop into the bucket, off came my coat into
another bucket and in went my change without having to be coaxed. AND
NO WATER! Boy, I am getting the hang of this travel business! (I wasn't
even wearing my "Other Thing", either).

 

Next was the walk through the magnetic metal detector mezmerizer. I
came through clean. A Phillippino asked for me to extend my arms. I
almost detected a happy face, so I felt good. OK, now spread your legs,
he says. I do so. He wands me and there is a faint squelch. I quickly
think if I have any gum wrapper! NO, of course not, we talked about
this in the car on the way to the airport. Did a gum wrapper get stuck
to my shoe? He wands me again, and there goes my belt buckle. What else
could it be? So he says: Undo your belt. What an a***ole! This is a
first! So I oblige. Then he asks me to turn around, exactly what I was
hoping he wouldn't ask me to do. Now I am facing the crowd coming in
with my arms up and my belt undone. He wands me again and then asks for
me to remove my shoes. I called him an a****ole in my head once, now I
called him an a****ole twice, and this time I was ready to say it out
loud. He sticks a bucket out at me, which I gather he wants me to
deposit my shoes into. In they go, and now I have to stick my legs out
while sitting. I imagine I am wrongly accused of a heinous crime in the
Philippine jungles and the military police are having their way with
me. Why me? I didn't even see what he did with my shoes! Suddenly he
stops, with both my legs extended and motions for someone else to come
through into detector hell. What, just like that? you are finished with
me? No "Thanks" or "Fine, you are free to go"? And where are my f***ing
shoes?



Oh s**t, my laptop, my coat and my money and carry on bags are at the
end of the chute and holding everybody up. No one knows who's s**t is
whose in these grey rubbermaid bins that piled up and everyone is
getting huffy. I was kidnapped for awhile folks, sorry, just let me
wander over in my socks and while I am wandering, I will nonchalantly
do up my belt as well. All normal for me, as I wander the streets of
Vancouver like this everyday, belt undone, in my socks, leaving my
clothes and personal effects to accumulate and piss everyone off.



I try to ask Jungle Torturer where my shoes are but he doesn't give a
fukc , I know he can hear my voice but he is playing God at the moment
and he has finished with me forever. I quickly scan the rack for my
shoes and now I am really worried: Man flies to freezing Calgary in his
sox!...Headlines appear in the Vancouver Sun and Calgary Herald. Oh,
and teaches in socks, and takes public transport in his socks, etc.
Well, at least it's not my underwear.



I start to panic now as I realize it is my laptop and my money creating
havoc there, so I vooff vooff (the sounds socks make on Airport carpet
floors) over there and rightfully grab my computer, computer bag, coat,
money and carry on bag. Now that my things are gathered up and in
order, I panic again, as I still have no shoes. I look over at the
other scanner chute and there is quite the commotion. I don't care, I
will push aside these gawkers and see if my shoes are there. What is
the commotion? they are looking at a grey rubbermaid container that
contain my shoes! I panic again, thinking something terribly wrong has
happened to them. I reach through the crowd and excuse myself as I do
so and say "I need these" and a fellow turns to me and says: "You
almost never got them back!". I laugh nervously at this strange
comment, while trying to decipher his meaning, but then an old couple
staring at my shoes, eyes following as the shoes quickly leave the
bucket by way of a long arm, both turn to me and say something similar.


They were all admiring my shoes as they had never seen anything like
them before: inside my shoes say "National Geographic" in their
trademark font and yellow colour, and of course the trademark yellow
rectangle is on the back of the shoes. Imagine...my shoes were 
worthy of stealing! and it would have been true, then, the headlines
had it happened!



Leaving Vancouver



The plane trip is uneventful. No screaming kids, no lithpths or helium
induced speeches. It looks like I will have a seat mate. He sits in the
middle, me on the aisle. He comments on how there is an empty seat in
our row, so he is eager for the space (me too) and quickly moves to the
window seat. Looks like we will take off any minute. Whoops, wait a
minute, someone has just scrambled on the plane...it's our new
seatmate! She was on the wrong plane and almost went to Smithers! Oh,
poor her! Oh, poor us! we all stand to let her through to the window. I
check my belt and shoes for good measure and remove my bag from under
the middle seat and place it once again uncomfortably in front of me.

The cabin crew go into their choreography of showing us safety tips. It
is real dance moves. Take out the safety card from the front pocket,
show it by turning it thusly and they all do it the same way with the
same timing. Next is the oxygen mask. The fellow in the aisle is
getting ready to show us how to do it. He looks down at his shoes and
wiggles his legs. I sense a wild dance coming up. He shakes his legs
again and moves from foot to foot. Now comes the move. And they all do
the oxygen mask dance.



The little TV in front of me has an ad for the CBC show Vancouver Now.
Ed's show. Guess who is the host? Margaret Ghallager. I've known
Margaret for almost 15 years, though I only see her maybe once every 3
years. Ed's an old mate of mine from Warsaw days and this is his new
gig.



Landed in Calgary



At Calgary, I remember to go to the proper queue for the Taxi cabs this
time, as last time I trudged out the nearest doors and found a line of
cabs idling, only to discover they were waiting for the signal to
advance to the proper cab pick-up queue, a quarter of a mile ahead. I
am next in line. I move my bag to avoid the frozen spit on the
sidewalk. There is a Chinese woman ahead of me with a stack of bags on
her cart. Suddenly, a line of people appear behind me, and they all
want cabs RIGHT NOW. Heathens! This is a Queue! The fellow with the
whistle and over-large brown coat with epaulettes summons more cabs
from the cab line up a quarter of a mile away and some break free of
the already congested traffic to enter this area. Calgary has way
more  vehicles than Vancouver, if an airport is any measurement. A
brash young kid several people deep behind me grabs the next cab. The
Chinese woman and myself are perplexed. I was going to tell the woman
that she was next in line but that was an obvious observation. She is a
bit flustered, and I am a bit exasperated. Finally it is sorted out and
Hanif is my cab driver. I try to be chatty with him, as this is what
you are suppose to do. I see it in movies all the time. He answers but
seems preoccupied with more important things, like talking on his cell
phone LOUDLY to his cousin/brother/buddy who speaks VERY LOUDLY so
there is a staccato chirping while he navigates this crazy airport
traffic with one arm free.



Conversation ended, he now feels chatty. So we talk weather, the price
of gas, will it snow and how was my trip (you go up and you go down, I
said, in my best kindergarten english. This is the synapses of flying
from Vancouver to Calgary, in case he is unaware). But he is aware and
agrees with me.



I soon ask if he is driving cab on Sunday, and we agree to meet for a
pick up back to the airport. He gives me his name and phone number and
it's a date. He doesn't like me paying by credit card. I knew he
wouldn't. He says he gets dinged the 5% charged by card companies, but
secretly I know he wants to rip his boss off and keep the cash for
himself. I promise I might have cash back to the airport (nope) and he
is excited to be at my service.



Hotel Hacker style="font-weight: bold;">


I enter the Hotel Lobby and the same fellow from 2 weeks ago is on
duty. He doesn't recognize me (thank God! i thought all those little
cork bits and broken openers I left in the wake of trying to open a
bottle of wine would have me banned forever!) and is glad to welcome
me. The welcome quickly thins and crawls as he is visibly upset with
the computer. It won't accept my reservation, I find this out after
patiently watch him become increasingly agitated and finally, almost
whispering (I am tired by now) a "What seems to be the problem?" It
appears I can have the room for one night, but am rejected for the
second night. He tries and tries. I was going to suggest he call
someone, but he is determined to figure out for himself how to get out
of this silly mess. He has nothing better to do anyway. This is the
best fun he has had all night. When I came in, he was reading the
newspaper, and being so late in the night (10:30), he was reading stuff
he would have skipped if he didn't have to read it). He is turning into
a hacker, as he curses and types, retypes and and tries again. I was
finally going to suggest just give me the room for the night and we can
figure it out in the morning, as suddenly there is a fat lady that
needs attention at the other end of the counter.



As soon as I think this, he somehow gets my first think to call
someone. His hacking skills suck and he is resigned to having to loose
face in front of me by calling SOME ONE THAT KNOWS SOMETHING. The
conclusion is exactly what my second think was. He is all cheery again
and happy for the conclusion, and there is a black squiggly line over
my head, cartoon style as I curse in my head the dolt. Thank you and
good night, he says. "Are you Mick Jagger?" I ask him in my head. Are
you some kind of Rock Star on stage tonight? Is it really that boring
and mundane a job? First, your computer performance was awesome,
especially when you tried to hack the system to see if you could get me
that extra room, and then your phone call to the next Comfort Inn was a
brilliant encore, where you got incredible advice, a true standing
ovation, and the way you gave me my room key card was a knockout. Truly
a command performance worthy of a "Thank You, and Good Night!" Not so
fast, buddy, I will be needing to borrow your wine opener momentarily
as I will be leaving your show to purchase some vino....



Wine + Dinner (with compliments)



This is my biggest worry...I am hungry, having eaten only predthelths
on the plane and a few nuts from my stash in my carry-on, and I really
want to make it to the merchants around the chilly corner before they
close for the night...and it is nearing 11.00 pm. No wonder I was
throwing eye darts at the night porter...I wanted him to hurry so I
could eat!



I wash up and scurry around the chilly corner (it is a lot nicer now
than 2 weeks ago. The sidewalks have real concrete on them and you can
see stars in the sky, and the dryness in the air just sucks the
moisture out of your lips and hands, not your lips, hands and NOSE).



The Rib joint on the corner looks closed, I pray it is not as I wanted
to try it last time but instead opted for a pizza that I managed to
make last for 3 days. I try the door and it opens, so I go in and spot
everyone sweeping and the chef is scraping the grills. I ask a girl if
they are closed, and the girl says, no, not yet. I glance at the chef
and he sends me a scowl. Seems someone wants to go home early. I am
polite and ask what time they close. Oh, good, there is another 15
minutes. She gives me a menu and I scan it, looking for simple but
tasty food, not wanting to piss off the night chef. The ribs sound
delicious and they come in all kinds of magnificent varieties, but I
know the chef has darts in his eyes at me, so I decide on the simple
fare of pulled pork. It comes with mashed potatoes and baked beans and
coleslaw and corn pone. That should keep me awake for several days! It
is expunged from the kitchen quite rapidly, in fact too rapidly as I
was just going to examine the old Blues LP covers on the far wall when
the call came out. Old dart eyes wouldn't keep his eyes off of me. I
wonder if he peed in the beans.



I next exit the fine establishment and take a left to the end of the
strip mall block to my favourite liquor store in Calgary. Massad is
there from last time at the till, and I am pleased, because it appears
he is still having trouble at the till. I check to see if they have a
good special of wine on at the front of the store like they had 2 weeks
ago and they do. This time it is S.African Shiraz//Pinotage I never
heard of, so I am excited. I make a mental note of that, then head into
the big cooler in the back to pick out a nice cold beer that will hit
the spot when I return to the Hotel room and complement the beans and
pork. Hassan is sitting on a box of wine near the back cooler, his eyes
slits as he tries to get a few nips of sleep until people like me
arrive to enter the cooler and rob him blind. I pick a nice Scottish
ale and then exit the cooler bent on grabbing 3 wine specials. I will
safely pack these and check my bag for the trip home. At the counter to
pay, Massad is all confused. He mixes my beer with the girl's wine
ahead of me, then gets even more confused when we try to tell him these
are separate orders. Hassan has to leave his box of wine to help out at
the checkout. Hassan is fit for the position of supivisor: his eyes are
still slits and he wants to put all my bottles in bags, slowly, one at
a time, while berating his cousin/brother/buddy at the cash. Massad is
ready to fall down now, as the pressure is mounting. I was going to ask
him the same question I asked him 2 weeks ago, but decide to ask Hassan
instead for fear of seeing Massad crumble under the pressure. Hassan,
do you have a wine opener? He lies and says he just sold out of them.
He just sold out of them 2 weeks ago! I was waiting for him to
recommend the shyster a few doors down again, but he said he just had
"stoppers". Oh, I see, stoppers are kind of like openers, as they more
or less hover around the same area of a wine bottle, namely the neck. I
wonder what he would do if I said I would have 5 of those, then?



Massad is taking too long to count out the change. I double check his
math and quickly head back to the hotel room as I can't wait to eat my
dinner that the chef peed in and to use that awful wine opener in the
front desk's drawer one more time.



Except this time I also need a bottle opener, not just a cork screw. I
return and there is a new person on desk. I hope he isn't into hacking
computers! I ask him for his wine opener. That is the term the last guy
used 2 weeks ago, so I figure I'l save the confusion over "Cork Screw"
and just come down to his level with wine opener. He is taken aback
that I have knowledge he keeps such a device there at the desk. He
makes a big show of searching his top drawer for the ugly plastic blue
opener (that I was sure I threw into the pool last time I was here),
and I can see it on top of all the other crap he has in that drawer. I
was about to point it out to him when, in true Mr. Bean fashion he
smiles a crooked smile and licks his lips and announces he has FOUND
IT! I want to applaud him and say "Thank you and Good Night", but it is
not the same guy, so decide to accept the royal gift and bite my
tongue. Oh, I see there isn't a bottle opener attached, I say in my
best Yorkshire accent. He double takes me and I come clean: has he a
beer bottle opener? Open comes that same damn drawer as he again
scrabbles through it. This time I am praying for an opener, anything,
as I will not be able to get this bottle open without it at all. Even
that bent, rusty china army knife I used 2 weeks ago on my beer bottle
worked, but I promptly threw it away and panicked I might get some
weird disease because it came into contact with my bottle. He 
can't find one, so I return to my room dejected as I know I will have
to struggle with this puzzle this time: How to open a beer without an
opener. I know, at parties, there are guys that will willingly do it
with their teeth. I envisioned me doing this. Man shows up to teach
teachers with no teeth and bloody mouth in Calgary. I will not Google
this this time.



I decide to open the wine and return the wine opener as soon as
possible, as he has taken my room numner and has my credit card number
on file, and I don't want to be paying for his blue plastic wine opener
for the next 3 years. So, for some reason I try opening the wine in the
bathroom. Maybe I was scared like I was 2 weeks ago when I used that
chinese army knife to surgically remove the cork and feared a massive
explosion, hence the bathroom could take it. Anyway, in goes the cork
screw and I wind it in as far as it'll go and the arms of the device
rise far enough for me to pull them down when I discover that the cork
is a plastic cork, whereupon the screw simply comes straight up,
leaving the cork in the bottle. Now I am really frustrated. I hit upon
the notion, finally, that if I screw it in closest to the bottle, it
will have some grip. It works! Now to get the beer open.



Last time I check the internet to see if I could get a cork out of a
bottle. I wasn't going to attempt to Google it this time, and searched
high and low for any device that would open a bottle. I heard voices
outside my door and in true neighbourly fashion, I swung my door open
and before I could assess the situation, my mouth ran ahead of me and I
found myself asking some teen girls if they had a bottle opener. During
my question, I could see into their room and I assumed it was a frat
party as everyone was in pajama's and if anyone would have an opener,
surely it would be them. But they stared at me and the wine opener I
was clutching in my hand and I thoroughly creeped them out. You see,
they were in their pajama's and mom and dad were also in the hallway
and suddenly I felt really evil and embarrassed. They approached their
parents in the hall, and I decided to put on a brave front and pass mom
and dad with a sheepish grin...I walked by, wondering if they were
wondering if their girls were next to some pervert that drank and asked
girls for bottle openers. For some odd reason, the girls were headed in
the same direction I was: the elevators. In their pajama's. Maybe this
is a stranger story than I am lead to believe? I mean, mom and dad are
there in the hallway, and these teens are in the PJ's and taking the
elevator somewhere, in their bare-feet, no less!



I am ahead of them and climb into the elevator. They arrive just as I
turn around and they see the creep in the elevator and decide to take
the other elevator instead as it has also just arrived. I am hurt. Now
I really feel like an evil one!



I return the wine opener, once again resisting throwing it into the
pool. There is no one at central command. Maybe I could try hacking the
computer myself? Or open that drawer and rifle through it to see if I
could find a beer opener. The teen girls pass by me. They exit the
hotel in their pajamas. It is -7 outside. Who is creepy now?



I return to my room, finally ready to eat and drink and check my email
and not worry about anything or anyone again. Except how to open my
beer. Remembering the party dudes who opened beer with their teeth, I
also remembered the trick that some party dudes used to open their
beer: counter edges. You place the bottle cap on the edge of the
counter and give it a good smack down, thus releasing the cap from the
neck. My challenge was not just my first attempt at this technique, but
to do it quietly as mom and dad were next wall over and I didn't want
them to get the impression that the creep was busting open bottles with
his bare hands!



So I went into the bathroom and closed the door. The countertop was
ideal, as it wouldn't disintegrate as I put my full force down on it
and the beer bottle. My first attempt made a rather loud THUD. I
thought that my next attempt will have to work or else the Calgary RCMP
would be paying a visit to room 403, looking for the man who tried to
get some teens to a beer party, who had undid his belt at YVR and
walked around in his socks. Next full force and the cap flew off, with
cheers from the mirror, toilet, sink and shower, as I held my arm up in
the air and shouted "Thank you and Good Night!"



Perhaps I have eaten my food too quickly, or that chef really did
sabotage my meal, within 45 minutes I need to visit the toilet, fast.



Calgary's air is crisp and clear and I have my lunch in the cafeteria
as the mess is open for business. I am fairly hungry after the bowel
cleaning last night and thin pieces of toast for breakfast, so I follow
the most popular line up. Looks like baked pasta. I finally arrive at
the server's side and ask what he has. He says he's out of the
Bolognese pasta, all that is left is a chicken/noodle/cheese affair. He
has no official name for it. I agree to it and he slops it on my paper
plate. After paying for it I sit in a corner and begin to regret my
culinary choice. It smells suspect and tastes rather weird. I should
have gone for a salad, but it is too late and I am hungry.



Lil picks me up after class and we head down to thrift about. I don't
have much luck: the records are a boring lot and there are no ceramics
or glass that is unusual, not any tea towels for Pearl. I come out of
it all empty handed, while Lil has managed to find a few things. I stay
for dinner, a late Chinese New Years noodle and sushi. Eventually we
move the the couch to watch a movie. I know what is coming next. I
follow the plot for the first hour, but suddenly my head starts to bow
and I snap it back into position. Ah, yes, the movie. No good, my head
drifts downward and I need to lift it back straight on my shoulders
again, but it is getting too heavy. Finally Lil says I should go back
to the hotel and sleep, and I think this is a really great idea.



I am lying in my bed when the teen girls arrive back from somewhere and
they are giggling, laughing, running up and down the hallways and
slamming their doors. These are heavy doors and do not close quietly. I
figure it is late enough so that they will settle down and go to bed as
well, but that is not happening. I have figured out that they have no
parents, that the adults I saw are chaperones and at the moment, the
chaperones are asleep but the kids they are chaperoning are not. That
spells trouble in my book. Doors are slamming and giggling and
whispering and more slamming. I doze but cannot get any start in the
land of Nod because of the bleating in the hallway. I tell myself one
more slam and that's it, I will yell at them. It is quiet now and I am
happy I don't have to sit up and yell, so I am drifting off when SLAM
SLAM jolts me upright. I yell. There is silence. No more giggling or
slamming doors. Sleep.



Morning I am in the breakfast room, reading the paper and trying to
enjoy coffee from a styrofoam cup. Enter a junior basketball boy's
team. Each one is 6 foot and starved and talking at the top of their
voices. James sure got it last night, Pete is still sleeping, he's
gonna miss the bus, adam was sick last night and so on. And these kids
are hungry. There's a huddle at the waffle machine, each one offering
tips on the best use of the waffle machine. Apples and muffins are
disappearing rapidly and cereal is now all over the floor. There is no
where to sit. I am not finished and intend to enjoy a relaxed moment
after the lousy night. The place has erupted as the waffles become
ready and for the most part the room is a blur of team colours (blue).
I hear some giggling down the hall. It gets closer, now it is at the
doorway and who should enter but the girls from across the hall and all
their teammates. They are in green and there are many sizes of them, so
they are not basketball. The boys in the room fall silent, some elbow
those who have their faces in their breakfasts. They are all staring at
the girls. As for the girls, they have immediately quit giggling and
are now behaving like adults. Some of the boys mouths hang open
revealing a mix of cornflakes and muffins. Some are thinking out loud:
If we only knew last night....Indeed, the boys must have been on a
lower floor to miss all the racket from last night. There is dead quiet
as the boys eat and watch the girls prepare their breakfasts. One thing
is certain, there will be nowhere for the girls to sit and eat.



A small man enters the room and there is no doubt he is the boy's
coach. If this were his house, he would've blown his whistle to get his
boys attention. But the boys, upon seeing him enter, start to chow down
quicker, even standing and eating as they know they have to go NOW. It
doesn't take long to round them up, especially as the coach has
promised them another stop at Tim Horton's. Now there is room for the
girls to sit. And they start their bleating, as there are no boys
around to look them up and down. Only a guy in the corner trying to
read his newspaper and drink his coffee from a styro cup.



The day passes, I make it through the airport with no problems or waits
and I am soon skyward. I catch an earlier flight, and get to see some
mountains. No TV's on this flight...good. I can read my book. There is
a coughing, choking lady to my right at the window seat. I am trying to
hold my breath as much as possible for fear of catching another cold as
I did last time in Calgary.



I am happy to be at YVR

First flight since 2001 and a weekend in Calgary

Well, I am still unsure of the exact time here, I think it is 11 pm
Calgary time. I should double check as my computer clock is on YVR time
and the clock radio next to the bed says midnight. I will need to set
the clock to wake me up as I have to catch the train to the College
early. Wish me luck!



All names are true.




Getting There



My sister dropped me off at the airport (thank YOU!) and I was left to
find my way at the airport. I pretended I knew what to do and
immediately headed for the West Jet check in. There are the kiosk
check-ins, which I thought I should try, but since I really didn't know
what I was doing, I felt I should do it the old fashioned way and let a
nice person in a uniform do it. So in the line up I go, complementing
myself on selecting a rather short queue. Alas, there was some weird
hold up with the customer ahead of me that needed a phone call to God,
so I stood patiently all the while planning what I would do once I got
on board the jet. Once God cleared the mess ahead, I was beckoned and
briskly asked for my boarding pass. Boarding pass? Isn't this the check
in...? No, wrong line buddy...you have to go way over there to that
(unfortunately) long line up. The word "Unfortunately" was his. I see
he gets his language lessons from God. So over to that unfortunate line
up I go, and although there are many uniformed people open, the line
queue is unfortunately slow. The shaved headed snowboarder ahead of me
has 3,000 items to check in, and he can't be older than, like, 14, man.
He speaks with a squeak.



I am through and head to the departure gate. I ask the security if
there is food on the other side of the security logjam, and This God
says there is. I am a tad hungry and am now looking forward to a bite
to eat. So I wait to enter the gates but am stalled by a couple of
dames who are stopped by a burly St. Peters (east Indian St. Peters)
who is not allowing a liquid container through. They haven't even got
to the radar and xray and atom smasher machine yet. One dame (yes,
she's a dame...stick with me on this one) is arguing, saying "Do you
know what this is?" and St Peter is adamant by saying he doesn't care
What This Is, rules is rules, ma'am. I feel like jumping in with my
helpful outlook and knowledge from years of world jet setting and
stating simply that Rules is rules, ma'am, when she says "Do you know
what this means if I cannot travel with this?" And "Do you know what
this would do to me?". I am intrigued now and want dark St. Peter to
ask what it means and what it will do. I am trying to see what it is
and what it will do, too. But I can't.



Now I want to really join the conversation! She is adamant that, with
her coifed hair and high heels (and still only up to his middle button
on his shirt) that she must travel with IT and she is, after all, only
going to Kelowna. Kelowna! If I had only known! Gee...step this way and
take that mysterious liquid with you! But now I am thinking that
perhaps it contains her loved one, and that she needs to ritually
dispose of it in the lake for everlasting peace. Finally, when we can
hardly hold our breath any more (well, I can't, smiling black St Peter
can) she confesses that the liquid is shampoo! Shampoo! And she says,
but I only have half a litre! Half a fickin litre! I almost fall over.
Does it go beyond the hair and scalp and penetrate deeply into your
brain? My God!



So now she asks what she has to do with it. Big Peter knows, and so do
I, but he is too nice to say it and tells her to take it away and come
back. I almost glaze over, but say to myself, gee there are some dumb
bunnies around.



I get let in. Peter points to the next available conveyor belt and I am
there. Next thing you know the ladies are asking for me to take my
jacket off, then my "other thing" (they meant my sweater, not my other
things) and my laptop has to come out of its bag and into a dish bucket
(that's what my jacket and other thing went into as well) Then a
question: do I have any liquid. Let's see...I transfered my shampoo and
didn't bring my shaving cream...I am replaying these actions in my head
as one girl asks if I have any shampoo or shaving cream. I answer NO,
because I just saw the movie in my head, then another question comes:
Do you have any water? And it suddenly dawns on me that I do! In my
side pocket. I felt like, 3 inches tall. I was going to use the "Do you
know what this means to me" routine I recently heard and thought it
might be worth another try when I say "Sorry, I totally forgot". So I
fish it out and she asks if she can throw it away. I cringe...I know I
am going to need that mid-flight as once you are up 25,000 feet you get
plenty dry. I think she sees my torture in my face and asks if I would
like to drink it. Boy, would I! So she hands it to me and I guzzle as
much as I can, and as fast as I can without choking. So there I am,
holding up the line as I guzzle water without my jacket and other thing
on, and I haven't even entered the radar buzz gate to see if there are
any sharp metal bits on my person!



Once the water is drained, I enter the radar buzz loop and there is a
stern Phillipina with a wand waiting for me. Looks like there will be
no jokes today, I am thinking. She waves the wand and asks if I have
metal in my pocket. No jokes today, Jaime. But I wonder...I left my
leatherman at home, so I don't think so. The wand squeals again...I am
damned, or doomed or whichever she will deliver. "Do you have coins"
What kind of stupid question is that? Well, I guess they should have
gone in a laundry bucket too. I pulled out some loonies and toonies.
"See" she says. Why yes, I see, metal! Money! Metal Money! Ain't I
something! Then she askes for me to turn around. Looks like I am a real
offender now! The wand squeals again. Well, I wonder what this could be
now. I have no coins, sorry - metal, in my back pockets. I know that is
true. Could I have sat on something? Could someone have put something
in my back pocket while I was in that long lineup with snow-boarder
dude? So I reach in and dig out...gum! What a surprise! I put gum in
there and it was wrapped in..."FOIL!"  says the wand lady. Boy,
her face was looking really stern. If it flattened any more it would
definitely become forever carved in stone. I wasn't her best friend
anymore. So now that I was spit out of her mouth, I was suddenly thrust
back to the rubber conveyor, where everyone's buckets are piling up,
with mine being foremost in the pile. I grab my other thing and jacket,
but there is a low murmur amongst the east Indian ladies now. "You have
more water!" says the tall one. She has the guts to say  it as she
is taller than me. More water! Yikes! Now I remember! I do! 2 bottles!
Oh, this is getting really out of hand! I will have to confess! Take me
back to big black Peter and I will confess all! Please! I frantically
start unzipping zippers of my black carry-on bag while trying to
remember which damn zipper I stuck the water in. But tall lady says she
will do it, she knows exactly where they are! And she goes directly to
them! And I sheepishly say I am sorry, but sorry doesn't count anymore.
She asks if she can throw them away, and I get weepy eyed for a couple
of friends about to be orphaned when she then asks if I want to drink
them. They are cold, still. And I am thinking Gee, I just drank a whole
bottle, what the hell are they thinking forcing me to drink 2 more? I
say sure, I can't drink anymore, and they throw them in the bin. I am
thinking I could cough on my way out and drop my "other thing" in the
bin and maybe retrieve my cold friends bundled and disguised in my
other thing, but they are all looking at me as I shuffle off, and I
don't dare look back as I know there is a line of customers there all
shaking their heads, thinking what the hell was he thinking?



Travel has sure changed since 5 years ago, before all this 9/11 crap
and that idiot with his exploding shoes and that other idiot with his
exploding juice!



I haven't eaten since breakfast, and now it is afternoon as I sit and
wait for my flight to be called for boarding. I have brought some
healthy snacks in small baggies to occupy my jaw and keep my stomach
from annoying my seat neighbours. I am popping nuts and dried apricots
in my mouth as I read a riveting article in Harper's about copyright
issues. This is such a good article that I must start memorizing
passages so I can intelligently quote from it for my class next week
for the Copyright session. I am so engrossed and dipping into my
baggy  that I popped a mouldy Apricot in my mouth. I couldn't spit
it out as there were too many people looking at me...must have been the
metal/water fiasco...guess I am either famous or notorious, so I
swallowed it. It was moldy all right. I chased it with some nuts, but I
had no water to wash it completely away. I pretended nothing happened.
My mouth felt like a war zone and needed lubricating. No water. I
refused to pay top-dollar for a machine dispensed water, and I refused
to drink Men's toilet tap water captured in a used cup. So suffer in
silence I will.



Landed



I am seated on the plane next to a chinese fellow who doesn't take off
his fluffy, downy parka and immediately falls asleep, even before it's
time to fasten your seat belt. A stewardess is on the PA and her voice
is sounding like a chipmunk. Is inhaling helium a pastime for cabin
crew? Or is it a trick microphone? Soon we are sky high and another
stewardess is asking if I want cookies or pretzels. Except she has a
lthp. Would I like Cookeeth or Predthelth. I wonder if she has eaten
Predthelth before hand and is now trying to advertise the yummy quality
if these snacks by speaking with them in her mouth. Having difficulty
in not mimicking her, I ask for Predthelth, er pretzels!



Getting to SAIT



On land, I hike out of the airport to locate a cab. There is a long
line of cabs off to the left, so I walk towards it. I can feel the
chill now, Luckily I put my gloves on and made sure my "other thing"
was zipped up. I pass by a limo, as I don't want to hire a limo (I am
not there yet...a rock-star I could've been) and choose the second cab.
Ranjeet rolls the window down and I tell him I want to go to SAIT
(Southern Alberta Institute of Technology). He gets out of his
car...how nice, he's going to help me with my bags. But he says, "There
is the line up over there!" And I look at him...no line up. No one but
me! My mouth is wide open and I feel snowflakes drift in. "You must go
to the line up over there, by the letter C!" Now I think I am on Sesame
street, an Indian Sesame street. I look to where he is pointing and I
see a "D' and an "E", but no "C". Where is Cookie Monster when you need
him? Maybe eating Predthelths. I take his word for it and go back to
where I exited the building, where the "E" is and then must walk aways
to get to the other alphabets. Luckily, the wait isn't too long, and I
hope I get Sesame street, but alas, I get Shah, who has an arab
newspaper on his front seat. Except he looks like Mike Tyson. He drives
like a maniac. And there is snow on the roads. You can't see the lane
divisions because of the snow, so it's his excuse to weasel his way
into merging traffic. A corner he takes causes the car to fish tail. I
say nothing...Calgarians do this all the time, I say to myself. It's
the thing to do. Fishtail that corner! Here comes another one!
Whee..ha! But soon the traffic comes. It's rush hour on 16th, on a
Friday, in the snow. His arms go up in the air. Now his arms go over
there. Next come the hands. and one more fishtail and a red light run,
then a slam on the brakes and a wiggle of the car and we are there.
"What time you leave?" he asks. Oh, I say I am leaving on Sunday,
thinking that this will get rid of him. "OK, I pick you up on Sunday!"
So here is my ride back to the airport. He gives me his phone number. I
know it's going to snow more in the next 2 days, so it should be even
more fun!



I zoom into the College hoping to catch administration in before they
leave for the weekend as I need keys to the teaching lab and
photocopies, etc. It's going to be a long night. After the grueling
flight episodes and fishtail snow ballet with a taxi, what could
teaching for the next 3 hours provide for a topper? Well, I am in
control once I am in the classroom, and it all goes according to plan.
My computer isn't harmed by airport X-Rays nor Rubbermaid buckets and
we have a normal classroom time.



Getting to the Hotel



Finally, I try to get a cab from SAIT, but as I look in the phone book
for 20 minutes not finding any companies, I realize someone has ripped
the taxicab pages out. No wonder I can't find the bloody things! So I
call Mike and Lil (Pearl, my wife's sister and brother-in-law who have
lived in Calgary for over 20 years), as I have only enough change for
one call. I am hoping they are in in, or their kids, as I have one call
to make and don't want an answering machine to eat my last coins. It
almost feels like prison. Mike says he will call me a taxi from his
house and I promise to call them from the hotel once I get there. I
await the cab, but the Black Top doesn't show. However, there is a
Yellow cab that keeps leaving and coming back. Perhaps it's a black top
as I heard sometimes the blacktop will have a yellow top. I convince
myself this is true and walk out into the cold and approach this
agitated Yellow cab. Pandit hops out of the cab and calls me Nigel and
says where the hell was I? He says he's been all over looking for me,
here and there and I can't see you anywhere! I said I waited inside and
when I saw you return, I thought it must be for me. Then he asked if I
called for the cab. Guess he was starting to figure I wasn't Nigel. I
asked him who called for a cab and he said "old man"! Well, I knew this
wasn't my cab, and he knew I wasn't his ride but he was agitated enough
to accept me as his fare. I said Nigel could have my cab and he
laughed. Hotel. I soon learn that the C-Train stops in front of my
Hotel and takes minutes to get to the College, and costs only $2.25. I
call Lil and Mike as promised, but daughter Katie says they couldn't
get a cab for me as they were all on calls elsewhere, so Mike and Lil
are on their way to pick me up! That is so nice of them but uh oh,
Katie says she will call them as they have just left. I tell Katie I
will call them back after I eat, as I haven't eaten since breakfast and
it's about 10 p.m. If you can call nuts and dried apricot eating.



Wine and Whine



I walk in the dry cold night towards buildings that have light. There
must be civilized stores that sell civilized things at this time of
night. For civilized hungry and thirsty Vancouver travelers like me. I
am in luck. After crossing a small foot bridge I encounter a strip mall
with fast food and take out shops, and an open hardware/cornershop and
YES! a liquor store! I figure the liquor store and the
Hardware/corner/grocery store are in a racket together. I select a
bottle of wine and a bottle of beer from the liquor barn. There is a
good sale on Aussie Shiraz, so I get that. Not thinking that I should
perhaps get a screw cap bottle. Those new corkless bottles can come in
handy for world travelers like me, who cannot travel with sharp metal
devices like corkscrews and bottle openers! So, at the check out at the
liquor barn, I ask if they have a corkscrew/bottle opener and they say
No. What kind of establishment is this? If they had a basket full at
the checkout counter, they would clean up! Heck, I would even buy 3 or
4! He says to try the store a few doors down. I intended to do that.
It's the middle of nowhere here and I am lucky to find a liquor store,
and I know I passed a novelty store on the way. He is trying to keep an
eye on his cousin/nephew/brother/sponsored immigrant as he makes change
for my $100 bill. His cousin/nephew/brother/sponsored immigrant is
having difficulty, not just with my order, but also with the previous
order. The man in charge barks foreign words at him, and this speeds up
the process but stresses the subordinate more to count his money 3 and
4 times over. I will count it again just to be safe, even though there
is a growing lineup of thirsty, partying teenagers (the drinking age in
Alberta is lower than in BC) who have left their pickups running and
need to exit NOW as there is some serious drinking to be done ASAP! So
as he gives me my change in a cloud of B.O. I head very quickly to that
other shop. It's also run by east Indians. "Hello my friend" says he.
He's more elegant than B.O. I ask for a corkscrew and he has almost
read my mind. "Right there in front of you" he points. I see but I
don't.  All I see is a swiss army knife. My heart falls. All I
want is a simple opener. He says "Take that one!" and I obey. I quickly
look at it and it does indeed contain a corkscrew. He says he has had
"the other ones" on order but for some reason they haven't shipped
them. A likely story. Was I born yesterday? I buy the swiss army knife.




Dinner



I pass a pizza shop, the one advertised on the Hotel access keys. Must
be good. I enter and there are 2 young girls with nose rings and
electric red hair in the kitchen sitting on counters. There is a long
haired skinny lad at the side counter looking very busy with bags and
papers. Her greets me so enthusiastically that I half expect they have
heard all about me and have been waiting all day for me to show up! He
is not the order taker, it's nose ring number 2 that'll take my order
because he has to go make deliveries and is it cold enough for me? You
bet, I say and wink at him. Guess I should wink at the skinny nose ring
and electric hair girl instead, but I chalk it up to the fact that it
is cold enough for me and my winking eye is a result of all that and
you should see my twitching leg and convulsing toes. Maybe it's just
the fact that it's been a long day and I haven't eaten and I am looking
forward to a routine that includes eating and sleeping. Looks like nose
ring one is new at her job and doesn't know how to deal with a "walk
in". Seems no one walks to a pizza joint anymore, being the number one
delivered food item besides chinese food. So nose ring 2, who is the
boss for this night shows her how to punch it in. Then boss nose ring
leaves for awhile while nose ring 2 is left to look after my spicy
chicken lard wheel. There is a long pause while I sit by the window,
the only chair in the place, while she sits on the counter and we both
count the minutes it takes to cook the thing. I want to make small talk
to put her at ease, after all, it is her first day and she is alone
with a guy who is overdressed for the weather because he had no idea
that Calgary was not like Nunavit, and I was almost sweltering in my
black coat, my black other thing, my black boots and black pants, my
black cap and the splash of red in the handmade scarf Pearl made me.
The scowl on my face must have hidden my otherwise pleasant heart. Nose
ring boss returns, my lard wheel is ready and I dash out into the
arctic air trying to balance a large, hot box in one hand and a bag of
bottles in the other while navigating new and old snow and ice back to
the hotel. I pass the Savory Inn, that looks out over Al's, which is a
grotesque circular building that advertises Large TV's, VLT's and hot
10 cent wings. I figure it must be the place for a Friday night, and
since my hotel room overlooks this fine establishment, I will expect
lots of activity around closing time. I am not disappointed!



A Table For One



When I get back to my room, I discover the swiss army knife is a
Chinese army knife. I locate the cork business on this fake apparatus
and I get a weird feeling. I pull the cork thingy out and it bends! It
has somehow fused with its base. I fear it might break off!  That
would be tragedy, for someone who is in need of a relaxing Red Shiraz.
It is made of some weak alloy! I fear it will break if I bend it
anymore (it's not coming clean from its housing, I don't want to force
it). So I try cutting the foil with it. No go. Hey! It's a Swiss
(chinese) army knife, it will have a cutter! So I open the cutter and
it is really dull. Theatre of the absurd! I can't even get the foil off
to get to the cork! I must be weak from all the stress today. Did I
mention I also taught for 4 hours? Anyway I take the bottle to the
bathroom and attempt to open it with any tool I can. Finally I peel the
foil and gently insert the screw. Gently gently I pull the cork out,
but guess what? The corkscrew unscrews itself to a  pointed
thing!!!



Can you imagine that? It totally uncurled! I tried the saw next. It was
making a mess. I tried a few of the other instruments, but stopped when
they began to hurt me. I Googled How to open a bottle of wine without a cork and got plenty of hits. But they all had something in common: No corkscrew, no problem, just use a screwdriver and a screw! How convenient! Note to self: Bring screwdriver and screws on the plane next time! Haha!
I finally went to the front desk to ask if they
had a corkscrew, whereupon the front desk clerk asked me "A wine
opener?" I was going to strangle him , but then I wouldn't get my wine
opened. So he checked my credentials and asked that it be returned
immediately as it was the only one in the entire Hotel. I assured him
it would be back in no time and I looked at it and saw it was a cheap
plastic affair that would likely break any minute and perhaps I should
toss it in his swimming pool?



Wine opened, I get to my email and start into my dinner. I don't think
I am hungry much anymore, but brave on for one never knows when one
will eat again. But, I reason, I can't eat the entire lard wheel
tonight so I will have enough for a few lunches. That'll save the
College some money too. Do they know I eat Pizza 3 days in a row? Do
they know I can barely eat Pizza the first day? Must be the Scottish in
me...saves money and hurts while doing it.



I start to write email, most of what is contained here. This takes me
through midnight and well into 1 a.m. I am confused regarding time, as
Calgary is ahead by an hour, and I feel awake. I finally succumb to
heavy eyelids and a nagging bed. Lights out and alarm set for 6 a.m., I
close my eyes and walk through the next days performance and start to
doze when I am startled awake by the sound of banging from a bed frame
directly against my bed frame wall. There are groans accompanying this
and I know what is going on. I am upset, but way too tired to do
anything. If I get out of bed and yell, I will be awake for an even
longer time.



Next Day



Suddenly there is a woman screaming at me that the mattress I am
sleeping on is a death trap. This scream is followed by loud rock
music. I bolt upright and realize the alarm has gone off. A bit of
relief as one of the things I worried about before I dozed was if the
alarm would work. I can't find the off switch. There's a snooze button,
but it doesn't work. Now I am suppose to rush in today, and only today
to purchase a car that has been priced way below cost and it includes
all the goodies I need in a vehicle. I eventually turn the radio down
and tell myself I will worry about finding the alarm off switch when I
return to my room this evening.



Breakfast



Room rates here includes a continental breakfast. I know what that is:
European coffee with fresh baked croissants and fresh fruit and
cheeses. I travel down to the breakfast room to find ski bums milling
about. I locate the decaf carafe and help myself filling a styrofoam
cup. So good so far. The milling about seems to be around the waffle
machine. It's not an iron...it's a machine. There are little cups with
pre-filled portions of batter that one pours into the nipples. Once
this is done, a timer is set and everyone waits patiently for a beeping
sound. When the beeping sound is heard, half the patrons in the place
jump up from their table expecting it to be their Waffles that are
ready. That's why there is milling about around the machine. You don't
want to look ridiculous prematurely ejecting yourself from your seat
across the room everytime a beep occurs.



I opt for a muffin, store bought in bulk from Safeway down the road
they look to be, and an orange juice to chase it's chewyness of it
down. I figure it will be a long day so also go for the brown bread and
toaster combo, but this I must pay attention to as it doesn't beep to
alert the user when your toast is burnt.



Teaching



I am waiting for the C-Train. There is a fellow on the platform who is
about to die. He has tuberculosis and is agony with every coughing fit
and breath he takes. He wants us to join him by frequently spitting on
the platform. He pulls his hoody over his head and looks like the grim
reaper. I pretend I am warm, but the train is taking longer than I
expect. This is when you feel the cold. Waiting. I can feel my nostrils
stiffen with ice, and my lips start to dehydrate. I will not lick them,
I tell myself. For if I lick them I will have fat red flakey lips for
teaching classes for the weekend.



I eat my cold pizza slice outside the old building on campus. This is
my favourite spot. There is a park of grass, now covered with snow, and
beyond that is the city skyline. There is no where to sit because of
the snow and ice. Last summer when I taught here, I would sit on a
concrete bench under the shade of a tree. Today it is clear and crisp
and I am wearing just the other thing, so I figure I have maybe 20
minutes before hypothermia sets in. I stand in the shade of a lamp post
as the brightness of the sky and snow is penetrating. A garbage
collector comes by in a little 4 wheeled vehicle and he turns around to
look at me and he is wearing a skeleton mask. My heart races. I am a
little freaked by this. Maybe he isn't a garbage collector after all,
but a mass murderer instead? Will ,y class be annoyed I do not return
after lunch? Or the following day? Or the following weeks? I quickly
pretend to this person that I am not freaked and return to my pizza and
make it seem more interesting than a fellow in a skeleton mask, whose
hood covering makes him look like the Grim Reaper.



I look at the front entrance of this building and see the gargoyles
above the entrance. One has a film camera.












The large wooden doors have iron clasps in the corners that are black and shaped into fire
breathing dragons. I like this building a lot. A snow flake lands on my
sleeve and I am fascinated by it as I can see the shape very clearly,
and it is not melting. Another lands and I decide to take a picture of
this. I can't focus on it as there is no macro on the camera. What a
pity. Instead I photograph an icicle that is  hanging twisted from
a lamp.  Inside in the stairwell at each level is a mural. I
noticed this last summer and took pictures of these, but it never
dawned on me to check the adjacent stairwell to see if there were other
murals. I do so now, and luckily I have my camera with me. The murals I
saw in the summer wher covered with spit balls. There is a pastoral
scene that is pseudo-greek with long robed intellects, but a centre
figure is female, whose toga haas fallen to reveal a breast and part of
another. This is a popular spitball target. Seems like there are
several winners as the nipple is crowded with a solid grouping of dried
paper.



Before I reach the first landing, I am surprised by a stairwell wall
mural. This is an abstract done in colours from the 30's or 40's and is
held together in a surreal shape like a leaf. A few steps up and I see
the first mural on the landing. It's a Chinoisi affair, again pastoral,
but in vivid silkscreen colours. Like the Greek pastoral image, this
Chinese pastoral is naive and not
accurate but is indicative of an era when foreign travel was difficult
and expensive so first hand sights are replaced with book or National
Geographic images. I continue on up to the next level and there is the
last mural. It's of animals and birds, local species no doubt. All
stylized in the typical 1940's colours and subject.













Dinner




I have dinner with Mike and Lil. They want to watch Phantom of the
Opera, and I am agreeable as I have never seen it and on their large HD
TV it should be pretty good. It seems now that they want to sing about
everything, and this phantom character is getting annoying. The lyrics
are 6th grade syrup and the whole thing is looking like a cover to a
Harlequin romance novel. If I close my eyes until this song is over,
maybe the action will get better. I start to snore and detect faint
dribbling from my mouth. Not a good thing to do. I try to watch some
more and it's no use. I nod off again. The long day has taken its toll
and I really need to go to bed. Lil drives me back to the hotel, not
before I get to see the ending of Phantom. It almost ended once or
twice before and I was especially relieved when it finally ended, on a
rather silly note.



I run upstairs to my room to get a pair of slippers that Pearl has made
for Lil, the ones I forgot to bring. She laughs, as they are still wet
from felting. Thanks Lil and Mike and kids for your hospitality. I will
see you in a few weeks when I return to finish teaching.



Final Day



Sunday, last day, we are out at 4 pm and I go to the agreed location to
meet Shah. It is still early, as he was coming by at 5 pm. I wonder if
I should call him on my Cell phone, but decide not to as it is almost
out of power and I will need to call Pearl when I arrive at YVR. I am
bundled up in all my coats and other things as I wait inside the
building. The building is empty of people and there are tables with
snack wrappers and such strewn on them. Some pop machines are humming,
and I decide to get some water as I am starting to sweat underneath the
layers. I read some free papers piled in a corner and see that there is
a good underground scene with bands, etc.



5 pm comes and goes and no sign of Shah. I wait by the window, the
doors are too cold. A few people exit the building and I watch them go
to the street and wait for the light to change so they can cross. They
fade into the show. 5:20 and I think I had better call another cab
company from the list I wrote down at Lil's. I am in the phone, praying
I will have enough battery for this call and the one I need to make in
Vancouver. It is ringing, ringing. Seems like a busy time...it's Sunday
and its snowing. The receiver picks up at the other end and I open my
mouth to ask for a cab when I notice Shah's cab pull up. I hang up on
the other party and burst through the doors happy to be cooled by the
weather. I think Shah senses my agitation and he jumps out of the car
after popping the trunk and grabbing my bags. He blames the weather, a
good excuse I suppose, but then, aren't they used to this type of
weather, so can it really be a good excuse?



Check-in, Calgary Version



There is a long line up to go through the personal check and radar
alert area. On my to it I pass by a table that has been set up to show
the items confiscated that are not allowed on board. There is the usual
assortment of pop and water bottles, but also half a jug of Ketchup.
This is a conversation piece for passing travelers. It hasn't dawned on
my yet that I still have a bottle of water with me. In the line up I
see people drinking water and become thirsty. I pull out my water and
then it hits me. I hope I don't look stupid. I guzzle as fast as I can
because I do not want any water on me when I pass through the atom
smashing machine. It is a relief I am so thirsty, but the lone is
moving faster than I can drink and in my panic I gulp air, which hurts
and will need to be burped out soon. Hope it can all stay calm during
the Spanish Inquisition, happening shortly. A woman is shouting now at
the end of my line. She is making her way to the front. She passes by
me and is saying she needs to board in 10 minutes would we mind letting
her through. Seems everyone has up to me so I look at her and decide
what to say, but she has already gone ahead, taking my slow indecision
as a Yes. She is also carrying in one hand what looks to be vomit. It's
sort of rolled up in a paper plate or broken paper cup and is truly
disgusting. There is no smell, thank God, but I think the reason we are
not saying anything is because we are repulsed at this mess she is
holding and repulsed at her audacity.



The fellow behind me curses and swears under his breath at her. He
sounds German, but his use of the F word is fluent English. I, being
freaked by what I saw in the woman's hand need to talk so I turn to
Hans and say that all you have to do to get through this line fast up
is arrive late and claim you have only 10 minutes to board. I didn't
mention the puke you have to carry around, and I was half expecting a
chat with Hans, but he wasn't having any of it. He preferred to scowl
and murmur under his breath, so I turn and try to concentrate on what I
will do when I get to the conveyor belt, while attempting to make sure
Hans doesn't explode behind me. It is soon my turn and I am ready to
take my coat off, my other thing, my laptop out of the bag, and hand
the empty water bottle proudly to the east Indian gal. They don't want
it. I say it's empty, but that is a lame excuse, so in it goes into a
bin with my other thing.  There is a military looking fellow on
the other side of the radar detector and he asks me to put one leg
through. I stick out my right leg and try to balance. He motions the
leg down and for the other to come up. Up goes left leg and I am
feeling rather silly now. Is he playing a game with me? Is this a power
trip? He can treat everyone like Pinocchios? Now he motions me through
in one lump sum of body. Arms up. There is a squeal from his wand. He
asks if I have a large belt buckle. I say no, and and I show that I
have no belt at all on. My fly is down and I quickly tell him and zip
it up. He asks for me to undo my pants and fly. I get the feeling he
doesn't like small talk or small jokes or the leg in the air
choreography...he wants more drama. He asks me to turn around. i do so.
He asks me to remove my shoes. I do so. Still, there is a squeal. He
asks if I have any coins on me. I do, and I had totally forgotten about
them. I was never asked by the previous encounter leaving Vancouver, so
I really didn't know. Out they come and on top of the machine they go.
As soon as I plunk them down he asks "Have you ever been in jail?" and
I turn around and he's talking to the German guy behind me. When my
back was turned he had motioned Hans to step forward and as soon as he
did, Hans raised his arms high to the ceiling, prompting the military
guy to ask the question. I guess he's finished with me so I can go.
Money back in the pocket, some land on the floor and I am trying to get
my shoes on before the advancing crowd.



All that water I had needs exiting so I head off to the washroom. I am
thirsty again, and hungry and need a place to sit and relax, as it will
be 3 hours before my plane leaves. I find a chain restaurant and enter
the darkened atmosphere  and locate a vacant table in the far
corner. That's precisely what I want. The menu is less than spectacular
and they are already out of chicken. All I can get is a sandwich and
salad. Hardly the warm meal I was looking forward to. I get a great
view of planes landing and taking off and of people exiting and
de-icing of wings and the little vehicle that makes a gutter in the
snow for the jets to use as a rut to guide it in and out.



Leaving Calgary



On the plane I am seated in row 1. There will be no one else in my row.
Across the aisle is a frightened lady in the window seat. She fidgets
and doesn't settle anything in particular, often trying to pretend to
be asleep. A large man ducks his head as he enters the doorway to the
fuselage. He locates his seat - directly across the aisle from me. The
scared lady is visibly upset. This large man takes of his cowboy hat
and sets it on his left knee. He pulls out a packet of Beef Jerky and
starts eating. The smell permeates the cabin and smells very close to a
fart. I feel for that poor woman. Now his boots come off and I wonder
what smell will come out of this. He immediately falls asleep. The
plane has not even started the engines.



I get to watch 3 TV stations at once. The Grammy's are on and I want to
see the Police, but I think I have missed them. I watch another TV and
see a tomb in the Nile Valley being discovered. This makes for better
visuals. The 3rd TV is fritzy and doesn't stay on.



I am home.

(not so) Maiden Voyage

Here is the new Blog from ME. Yours truly. I saw an old blog I did over a year ago and it was so full of typos and silly stuff, that I couldn't possibly let anyone see it. So, this will be a location for found things (the flotsam) and the stuff I talk about (the jetsam). Plus lots more. Le't see where this will take me...