On my never ending quest for cheap airfare to Paris, I booked a two-leg flight on Air Canada. That is how my generous backside came to be planted in Terminal 1 of the Toronto Airport. After my normal Departure Panic this morning, I boarded a very small tin can w/ wings (literally, a 13-row airplane! who knew they still came this small . . . that's what she said.) for the 2 hour flight to Toronto.
I haven't been on a small plane like that in at least 10 years and my god, but it's LOUD. I couldn't hear a damn thing anyone was saying except for the old lady across the way who wanted to know if bringing two cameras into Canada would be considered commercial merchandise. Bless her heart.
And here's the irony of my day in the Maple Leaf Nation: I used to work for a Canadian company, a group of very nice people, but my brutally honest, proactive style didn't mesh well with the ultra polite and (slightly) passive Canucks and we parted ways when I went to work for the soft drink company. It was a nice parting, but I vowed never to work for Canadians again. Just too nice!
So, as I was soaring up in the tin can today, I thought how ironic it would be if I were to perish in the tin can, possibly on Canadian soil. It would surely be payback for the time I told my workmate that he and his fellow countrymen were, "fence-sitting pacifists" but I wasn't ready to go today. I will confess that as the tin can hit the tarmac on landing, I almost bit my tongue in two as we slammed into the ground. Would have served me right.
I have to give the airport kudos. They've already liberated me of about $300 between duty-free purchases (mom's birthday!), a new converter and some large glasses of wine. And they have free WiFi. Maybe I should revise my opinion.
Or maybe not. I just spotted some Wannabe Cirque de Soleil performers in body builder pants, sporting mullets. Even the girls.