What's in my head

This is the home of your average girl in her early 30s making her way in the big city...Not really. I have thoughts. Now I have somewhere to put them.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Vacation side note

In all the excitement of sharing my trip to London and Paris with the Internet (read Carly and Vicki and the people who like the redneck photo I stole borrowed from the redneck games site), I completely forgot to share the story of the trip to London (i.e. the trip to Pearson and my first overseas flight).

It started with me calling every. single. taxi company in the phone book because I had to make sure I was getting the best deal (I was willing to pay $50). I found said deal and booked it. Fast forward to when the cab was supposed to be at my door. It wasn't there. No problem, my place is a little difficult to fine. Five minutes go by, 10 - still not there. Still no panicking because I am a planner and I gave myself an extra half an hour when booking. I call the company. The man on the line says, "you made a reservation?" to which I reply yes and he asks me a few more questions and then tells me to wait a second while he checks something in a tone that can only be discribed as 'shit, who forgot to write down this girl's reservation?' He assures me my chariot will be there in five minutes and we hang up.

Five minutes later I've wheeled my suitcase to the driveway to make it easier for the cab to find me. A minivan pulls up and a woman jumps out (I don't think I've ever seen a female cab driver), opens the back and goes for my bag. Now I'm an observant person and there are no cab signs or decals on this vehicle which leads me to think, 'did this dude send his wife to take me to the airport in the family car...?' This thought is reinforced by empty juiceboxes in the back and other signs of children, plus the Homer Simpson head hanging from the keys in the ignition...but I don't care as long as she drops me off at Terminal 1 for the price agreed to on the phone. The final clue this isn't her full-time job: she is a bad driver and not in an I'm a cabbie so I'm going to cut people off, speed and scare my passengers kind of way. More like hesitant, slow and decides to go in the express lanes when it is obvious the collectors are moving MUCH better (I wanted to just drive myself and hand the wheel back over to her when we got there). But I made it.

I found Sarah and Adam in the check-in line, they let me butt and then we were off to our gate. We had to take a bus? As people continued to board said bus I noticed a man with some colourful arm art. As I casually glance at the tattoos, my eyes move down his arm to his wrists and the shiny silver bracelets he's wearing. You know the kind that are attached and best viewed from behind? I then notice the two airport guards (I'm not sure what they were) with him. Couldn't they have gotten their own ride to the terminal? We make it to the gate without tatman escaping. S & A keep me company at my gate because my flight was leaving first. They leave when I'm about to start boarding and I make a trip to the ladies room before getting on the plane. When I get out my flight time has been moved back an hour. We are now leaving at the same time (in the end they leave BEFORE me and get to London minutes before me -- I dislike Air Canada) so I decide to go visit them at their gate, but before I do I notice tatman at the end of sitting area sans the silver bracelets. What could he have done to deserve them be put on for a bus ride, but then be removed in a terminal full of people?...I never got the answer to that, but I figured all the more reason to go hang out at another gate.

The flight was good (I guess..I mean we made it so that's a plus), I think I got some sleep and I did beat S & A through customs.

The End.


  • At 9:31 AM , Blogger christine said...

    was tattooman cute?

  • At 5:59 PM , Blogger Danielle said...

    Ah, no. He reminded me of that guy in Con Air who gets handcuffed to the plane and when it lands in Vegas his arm is still hanging there, but he's on the floor.


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