Adventures in Travel
Things you can do in an airport without ID:
Apply for a WestJet Credit Card (they will pounce on you as you pass them for the third time because your flight has been cancelled and you’re ping-ponging between check-in and customer service, and their kiosk is situated ideally in the middle of Air Canada’s ping-pong court).
Apply for a WestJet credit card while the attendant remarks on how you look like you’re eighteen years old, but still doesn’t ID you.
Buy a pack of cigarettes.
Buy a pack of cigarettes for twice as much as the gas station a fifteen-minute walk outside of the airport.
A gas station which would probably have the brand you want, but aren’t going to go to, because navigating the roads in and out of the airport are bad enough in a car, let alone on foot.
Buy a pack of cigarettes while the attendants remark on how you look like you’re seventeen years old, but still don’t ID you.
Go through security.
Go through security twice.
So, the mixed blessing of a cancelled flight this morning: Air Canada rebooked my flight automatically, to one departing about six hours later than originally scheduled. At some point I realized I didn’t have my ID, because it was sitting in the scanner, because the government of Alberta wanted the information last night, and I had completely blanked on taking it off the glass. Happily, I had about five hours left after the mob of rescheduling to go back to my apartment and grab my ID. This would have been impossible had the flight not been cancelled, and I probably would have been screwed trying to get on.
But maybe they don’t ID for boarding anymore, either. I wouldn’t know, seeing as how I’m on my ass and waiting another three hours for boarding.
That is the one silver lining.
It’s a bit thin.
The flight was cancelled because they overbooked it and then couldn’t find a big enough plane to accommodate everyone.
That was the look on my face, too.
Meanwhile, as part of the rebooking process, they refused to change my flight to any direct-to-Toronto trips, because I was going through Montreal originally, and heaven forbid they disrupt my layover schedule. That would just be rude.
They gave me a ten dollar meal voucher, instead.
Very kind of them.
I like airports, more or less. Security is nerve-wracking but having been through a couple of American airports, Canadian security is practically a breeze. Belt, laptop, phone: into bin. Slide bin. Step through scanner. Step through scanner without feeling like security is going to shoot you, and I’ve never had anyone in a Canadian airport grope my ass, as protocol dictates.
But other than that, I like airports.
The wifi is even free when it works nowadays.
I particularly like the blend of people. In the same line-up of everyone trying to get to (Montreal/Toronto/Texas/Edmonton/Vancouver/etc. via Montreal), you had the loud Texan family who was demanding a refund and maybe to sue (free: ten dollar meal voucher); the woman with the Swarovski bags and fur coat informing her husband there was no issue because people like them do not have issues and if Air Canada would be so kind as to open the executive class line to serve them (free: ten dollar meal voucher, no line); the family from Newfoundland who had been at the airport overnight already (free: ten dollar meal voucher, overnight stay at an inn); and so on. To implicate myself, you also had the dude mashing numbers on his phone furiously trying to keep in touch with four people at once, who smiled and nodded because my flight was on the first rebooked automatically (perk of being mobile on Air Canada?) and tried to get a direct flight to Toronto instead (free: ten dollar meal voucher).
Just don’t see a blend of people like that in very many places.
This may be karmic, the flight was cancelled immediately after I tweeted about how unimpressed security was with my carry-on Bag of Holding, which has a million pockets and no, I assure you, is not hiding liquids or stabby objects in a hidden pocket somewhere.
Just books.
It’s a blend of people, by the way, who make a strange sort of mob. You had the people whose faces were turning red and they were about to start shouting and getting angry, who were immediately defused by those who are more inclined to smile and nod and thank Air Canada for the inconvenience and just tell them where to go so this can be sorted out, thanks.
Like pulling a plug on a kettle about to boil, before emotions get too contagious.
The Halifax Airport also smells of lobster and coffee, depending on where you stand.
You can see the war between eReaders and books being passively waged here, too. For every eReader there’s someone with a book; and for every book there’s someone with a laptop (hi).
And for every Santa hat or reindeer antlers I’ve seen there has been, inexplicably, someone in a beaver hat.
Also enjoyable: while applying for a WestJet credit card (I don’t know why), attempting to answer the question of ‘occupation’. Specifically what I plan to do when I graduate.
‘Student’ leads to questions of ‘where and what do you study’ and ‘English’ shockingly brought back a comment of ‘so you plan to be a professor?’
I’ve had many conversations the past few months about where an English degree will take a person, and what it means to intend to become a professor anywhere. But all of those have taken place in an academic setting. The conversation goes in a completely different direction in an airport.
So I laughed at the professor comment, went ‘no’, and when asked what else I could possibly plan on doing, I said something about video games and technology and editing.
‘With an English degree?’
With an English degree.
‘So what would that be called, video game… maker?’
Not really.
‘There’s nothing wrong with being a professor, you know! They make good money!’
Oh, fine, put me down as professor then, it’ll fit in your box.
Anyway, by tonight at some point I will have my feet in Toronto and be around some favourite people, and it’s not as if there isn’t a Starbucks directly across from me right now, or as if I didn’t pack a thousand pages of reading to do between now and when the plane-allegedly-takes off in three more hours.
Look, look, a real post. I wrote a real post.
Apply for a WestJet Credit Card (they will pounce on you as you pass them for the third time because your flight has been cancelled and you’re ping-ponging between check-in and customer service, and their kiosk is situated ideally in the middle of Air Canada’s ping-pong court).
Apply for a WestJet credit card while the attendant remarks on how you look like you’re eighteen years old, but still doesn’t ID you.
Buy a pack of cigarettes.
Buy a pack of cigarettes for twice as much as the gas station a fifteen-minute walk outside of the airport.
A gas station which would probably have the brand you want, but aren’t going to go to, because navigating the roads in and out of the airport are bad enough in a car, let alone on foot.
Buy a pack of cigarettes while the attendants remark on how you look like you’re seventeen years old, but still don’t ID you.
Go through security.
Go through security twice.
So, the mixed blessing of a cancelled flight this morning: Air Canada rebooked my flight automatically, to one departing about six hours later than originally scheduled. At some point I realized I didn’t have my ID, because it was sitting in the scanner, because the government of Alberta wanted the information last night, and I had completely blanked on taking it off the glass. Happily, I had about five hours left after the mob of rescheduling to go back to my apartment and grab my ID. This would have been impossible had the flight not been cancelled, and I probably would have been screwed trying to get on.
But maybe they don’t ID for boarding anymore, either. I wouldn’t know, seeing as how I’m on my ass and waiting another three hours for boarding.
That is the one silver lining.
It’s a bit thin.
The flight was cancelled because they overbooked it and then couldn’t find a big enough plane to accommodate everyone.
That was the look on my face, too.
Meanwhile, as part of the rebooking process, they refused to change my flight to any direct-to-Toronto trips, because I was going through Montreal originally, and heaven forbid they disrupt my layover schedule. That would just be rude.
They gave me a ten dollar meal voucher, instead.
Very kind of them.
I like airports, more or less. Security is nerve-wracking but having been through a couple of American airports, Canadian security is practically a breeze. Belt, laptop, phone: into bin. Slide bin. Step through scanner. Step through scanner without feeling like security is going to shoot you, and I’ve never had anyone in a Canadian airport grope my ass, as protocol dictates.
But other than that, I like airports.
The wifi is even free when it works nowadays.
I particularly like the blend of people. In the same line-up of everyone trying to get to (Montreal/Toronto/Texas/Edmonton/Vancouver/etc. via Montreal), you had the loud Texan family who was demanding a refund and maybe to sue (free: ten dollar meal voucher); the woman with the Swarovski bags and fur coat informing her husband there was no issue because people like them do not have issues and if Air Canada would be so kind as to open the executive class line to serve them (free: ten dollar meal voucher, no line); the family from Newfoundland who had been at the airport overnight already (free: ten dollar meal voucher, overnight stay at an inn); and so on. To implicate myself, you also had the dude mashing numbers on his phone furiously trying to keep in touch with four people at once, who smiled and nodded because my flight was on the first rebooked automatically (perk of being mobile on Air Canada?) and tried to get a direct flight to Toronto instead (free: ten dollar meal voucher).
Just don’t see a blend of people like that in very many places.
This may be karmic, the flight was cancelled immediately after I tweeted about how unimpressed security was with my carry-on Bag of Holding, which has a million pockets and no, I assure you, is not hiding liquids or stabby objects in a hidden pocket somewhere.
Just books.
It’s a blend of people, by the way, who make a strange sort of mob. You had the people whose faces were turning red and they were about to start shouting and getting angry, who were immediately defused by those who are more inclined to smile and nod and thank Air Canada for the inconvenience and just tell them where to go so this can be sorted out, thanks.
Like pulling a plug on a kettle about to boil, before emotions get too contagious.
The Halifax Airport also smells of lobster and coffee, depending on where you stand.
You can see the war between eReaders and books being passively waged here, too. For every eReader there’s someone with a book; and for every book there’s someone with a laptop (hi).
And for every Santa hat or reindeer antlers I’ve seen there has been, inexplicably, someone in a beaver hat.
Also enjoyable: while applying for a WestJet credit card (I don’t know why), attempting to answer the question of ‘occupation’. Specifically what I plan to do when I graduate.
‘Student’ leads to questions of ‘where and what do you study’ and ‘English’ shockingly brought back a comment of ‘so you plan to be a professor?’
I’ve had many conversations the past few months about where an English degree will take a person, and what it means to intend to become a professor anywhere. But all of those have taken place in an academic setting. The conversation goes in a completely different direction in an airport.
So I laughed at the professor comment, went ‘no’, and when asked what else I could possibly plan on doing, I said something about video games and technology and editing.
‘With an English degree?’
With an English degree.
‘So what would that be called, video game… maker?’
Not really.
‘There’s nothing wrong with being a professor, you know! They make good money!’
Oh, fine, put me down as professor then, it’ll fit in your box.
Anyway, by tonight at some point I will have my feet in Toronto and be around some favourite people, and it’s not as if there isn’t a Starbucks directly across from me right now, or as if I didn’t pack a thousand pages of reading to do between now and when the plane-allegedly-takes off in three more hours.
Look, look, a real post. I wrote a real post.