All Other Things

Thank you for your understanding and your good patience. P.S. I love you. – Part Two

Posted on: May 16, 2008

This is where I left off in Part One of this series of traveling from VA to BC:

“Needless to say, I had to pay for the extra heaviness and the extra bag. I had to pay a lot. Way too much to report here. Kinda sad, really.”

And it is sad. Because I am extremely poor. Not a little poor, but a lot poor. You know when people are in debt, but they still have an incoming income to make them feel like they will survive? Well, please minus the income and the feeling of survival, and you have me.

But that’s another story.

Probably not for here.

Anyhow, I started making my way to the first plane. Here I am walking, somewhat self-consciously to my gate. I mean, I am carrying a 17-inch beast through the airport. People were looking. Gawking really. Kinda unnerving.

So, I arrive at the gate before the gate (what do they call that?) and the guy took my ticket and my passport. He was friendly enough, but then he came out with the following phrase

“The airline has chosen you for an additional inspection. Please go to the aisle on my left.”

Really Air Canada? REALLY!

So, I lug my computers (I also had a laptop), my puffy jacket (which I wore to save some luggage space), my purse and my binder (which did not fit into any bag that I was holding, but I needed it with me) to the other aisle. I place them all on the conveyor belt along with my shoes (which are really boots that I wore, again, to save space). Kinda had to use about 4 plastic countainers.

“Beep Beep Beep,” said the machine when I went through. I had to walk back and remove my belt, that I really didn’t think had metal in it.

Then the belt broke. Awesome.

I was then directed to a glass room, so the whole world can view, point at and laugh at me, the potential Canadian terrorist (which was my nickname at my internship because I was not allowed to be considered an intern because I was Canadian. But that’s another story. Perhaps one for here)?

They called a lady in to give me a pat down, which was, by the way, less intrusive than the ones they gave me as an employee on cruise ships. Then I had to sit while she went through my stuff (and yes she said, “Is all this stuff yours?” when she saw it) with the paper attached to the stick thingy that is rubbed on the items and put into a machine. They turned up nothing. Surprise!

So, she let me go. She was really quite friendly as well. She let me throw my broken belt in her garbage.

[TO BE CONTINUED…]

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