Backstory: two days of meetings with reluctant Canadians. Readers, your beloved American corporate traveling blogger is pooped to the poop.
I am in Toronto Pearson. I arrived four hours before my flight was to take off. I was second on the standby list for the earlier flight. The AA gate lady said "You just have to wait." So I waited with two other weary, hopeful would-be stand by flyers. The AA gate lady kept taking calls and discussing the dire situation of some guaranteed flyers with a delayed connection. She kept repeating: "I don't think they're going to make it." Hope reared up in the chests of three weary travelers.
Right before the door closed, one of the three of us waiting got standby. She told the other two of us "Sorry. It's full now."
Oh my god, AA Lady! What sick games are you playing?! There was only ever one seat remaining? Your "they're" on the calls referenced one person not a few, And I don't think you were being respectful of a gender non-binary passenger. I think you were fucking with us! Evil woman!
You held our dreams of an early arrival in the palm of your hand and you toyed with us!
Respect.
So I wandered through Duty-Free. Here's the thing about brief work trips to Canada. You get all the little inconveniences of being in another country (your money don't work, your cell phone don't work), but it doesn't feel any different than any other Anywheresville, (North) America. Sure, there's an occasional "aboat." But mostly, we're cut from the same cloth.
This is probably deeply offensive to Canadians. I would apologize only I didn't make the earlier flight and am not feeling inclined to regional sensitivity.
So I wondered through Duty-Free where I learned that my math skills are not equal to the task of combatting sticker-shock at Canadian prices. You want SEVENTY dollars for that?! I know it's only *clicks tab to google currency converter* $51 in my money, but it sounds like SEVENTY DOLLARS!
So then I wandered to a bar (shocking) where I learned that at Toronto's Pearson the only bourbon you can get is Knob Creek (YOU WANT $24 for one double bourbon!!). Which was better than in the terrible Hilton Garden Inn in Vaughan, OT, where they only had Maker's Mark and did not even have the good manners to feel bad about that. Maker's Mark is terrible fucking bourbon and if you drink it you should feel bad about yourself. I said it. Fight me. Go to the island of people who buy overpriced bad booze and hang out with a bunch of senselessly smug Grey Goose drinkers.
So I sat at this bar and ordered a Knob Creek (double. Don't judge me. I DIDN'T GET ON THE EARLIER FLIGHT!) and a glass of ice water. The 60-something lady bartender returned with the bourbon but not the iced water and I said "Can I get that iced water?" And she engaged in the world's most inadvertent deep sigh and eyeroll and said "I know. I'm just getting it."
Did I get my dander up?! You bet I did! I (silently... never piss off the bartender) got my dander up and engaged in an internal diatribe railing against that inadvertent deep sigh and eyeroll.
Dander determinedly still up, I decided that since I had all this time to kill, I should probably do some work*. I opened my laptop, logged onto a VPN and then an RDP session at which point a Windows OS had the rank AUDACITY to ask me for a password.
Obviously, I let loose a deep sigh and an inadvertent eyeroll.
And now I feel a deep kinship with this bartender.
The world is fucking exhausting and people (and operating systems) are always requiring us to be polite in the face of dumb things and we really all just deserve to sit on comfortable couches and watch endless reruns of Schitt's Creek while drinking lovely cocktails and, I don't know, probably snuggling a cat or a cute little dog or something and instead we just have to keep smiling through all this nonsense!
I really thought I'd slide into the second half of my life as a lady who offered wisdom and kindness. I pictured myself a disseminator of pearls of wisdom, hugs and auntuncular (THERE IS NO FEMALE EQUIVALENT TO AVUNCULAR GODDAMMIT PATRIARCHY!) enthusiasm. I may still be that lady.
But I cannot stop myself from the deep sighs and the eyerolls. I have earned them.
Also, Woodford Reserve which should be available at every airport bar in North America!
Goddammit, Toronto's Pearson!
*I did not do any work. Instead I wrote in this dumb blog. It's way more fun.
