Okay...so after preparing my den to do work, I've decided that it's time for me to stop putting things I can do today off until tomorrow. This is what I like to call reclassifying procrastinatory inclinations. After five years of university, I'm happy to report that I've mastered this administrative art.
So...last month of my life. I went home to St. John's, where I parted with my wisdom (teeth). According to Erin C, this was the only part of me she's ever really liked.
Either I was incredibly lucky, or other people are incredibly whiny. I was eating chicken that evening, and stopped taking my pain meds four hours after surgery. Take THAT! After ranting about how my oral surgeon raked in more than $1000 for NINE minutes of his precious time, I continued to avoid "academic" things. It was delightful.
I did get to take in some of the Magentic North Theatre Festival while I was home. Daniel MacIvor's new play was amazing, as anticipated. Now that I think of it, I only went to see plays from Nova Scotia...but they were quite good (on the whole).
I was a little annoyed that the festival bills itself as English-Canada's national exhibition of contemporary Canadian theatre. In terms of geographical representation, the playbill wasn't exactly staging the nation I know. And I walked away without a sense of what makes 'Canadian' theatre Canadian, which really would've helped me with this ‘thesis’ thing.
Anyway, the flight back was somewhat eventful. When I landed in Halifax, I was supposed to meet up with a friend for a hug/picture exchange. My flight pulled up to the terminal at 11:30. My flight to Toronto left at noon. Should Brad have left security? No. Did Brad leave security? Yes, he certainly did. Was my friend there? No, but I knew that her absence was a possibility. Did Brad almost miss his flight because of the BEOTCH security guard he met at the end of a very long lineup that took him 15 minutes to get to the front of? Sure did.
So...it's 11:45 and I'm walking through the security arch-thing. Even though I had taken off my belt in an effort to breeze through, I still set off bells and whistles. So, I oblige the prodding requests of Ms. Security Wand and spread my appendages like an eagle.
Note: Usually, I rather enjoy this procedure, as it is the only time that women touch my inner thighs without me having to pay them.
"Do you mind if I look in your bag, Sir?"
"No, of course not. Please go ahead."
We met at the end of an institutional metal table, and she seized my boarding pass for inspection. This is the fifth time it has been inspected. Pack off. Clearly, if I make it this far, I'm supposed to be on a plane - and by this point, mine is scheduled to take off in ten minutes.
She started rooting through my bag, and placed my boarding pass on the table. I...by now starting to freak out about missing my flight and wishing to have all documents ready to throw at the desk agent...motion to pick up my boarding card and place it with my photo ID. While doing so, I ASK if this is okay.
BITCHFACE McBITCHPANTS actually GRABS it as I'm moving my hands towards it, and says QUITE loudly that SHE will hand me my boarding pass when she "has completed the inspection, and only then. Understand, sir?"
Someone clearly did not get enough bran this morning.
She proceeded to TUCK it under the computer keyboard behind her, out of sight. At this point, another security officer notices and circles 'round to ensure that everything is under control. He then stays there to supervise. At this point, my personal belonings are scattered everywhere, and I ask McBitch if its okay for me to pick up my belt and put it back on. She says sweetly..."Of course you can; it's your personal property." It's 11:55. She says she's finished, leaves all of my stuff out of the bag, and hands me my boarding pass.
I repack quickly, not having time to scream...PERSONAL PROPERTY? That $%&*#@! BOARDING PASS is printed on paper from MY PERSONAL computer that was paid for BY ME (Well...my parents....), and EVEN IF IT wasn't, it would still by MY property, as I paid for the EFFIN' FLIGHT THAT I'M ABOUT TO MISS BECAUSE YOU'RE A BITCH AND I'M AN IDIOT!
Sigh. That's the climax of my little ditty. They were paging me as I ran up the stairs past the charming individuals who were crowding both sides of the escalator looking around casually as if they were on a Sunday drive, and I literally ran onto the plane as they closed the doors behind me. Dirty looks abounded.
Upon arrival in Toronto, I made my way to the luggage carousel. For those of you have ever collected your bags at Pearson, you know that it can take up to 45 minutes for the conveyor belt to spit out your bags. On my last three flights into Pearson with Air Canada this year, this has not happened for me. Even when I've been on a direct, non-stop flight.
Anyway, bags were lost again. Apparently, they were in Montréal. How this happens in an age when federal legislation prohibits bags from being placed in the cargo hold of a plane if the owner of said bags is not on said plane, I do not know. But it did. While I could pretend to be upset about this, I did benefit from Air Canada's error. I didn't have to lug my suitcases with me from Toronto to Kingston. They were delivered to me by a rather cheery fellow the next morning at 9am.
And that, friends, was Brad's trip back to Onterrible.
Alright...I'm going for a run. After this, I'm heading to Brew Pub for a night out with the History folk before Colin heads back to Toronto tomorrow. This is also an excellent way to avoid working on my thesis.
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