Christmas Planes, Trains and Automobiles
Thankfully, I’m not traveling anywhere for Christmas this year. Last year I had to. Here’s the story of that marvelous adventure:
It was an early start to catch my flight from Toronto to Halifax. With no appropriately sized suitcase for an eight-day trip, I threw everything into a huge green monstrosity and was out the door by 8.45am. To save money I decided to take public transport (two trains and a bus) to the airport. On reflection, if a cab had cost my entire life savings, it would have been worth it.
Firstly, there was the five-block walk to the first train. Then I had to lug my huge case down two flights of stairs. I should say at this juncture, I was wearing an outfit which didn’t really allow for physical exertion: an oversized chunky knit jacket, thick sweater, skin tight jeans and high-heeled, knee high boots.
I hurl my handbag over my shoulder, pull up my sleeves and pick up the case. One hand on the railing, the other hoisting my luggage, I’m only a few steps down before I’m breaking a sweat and the entire population of Toronto is lined up behind me. I’m directing people around me like cars. And, as if any more proof were needed that chivalry is well and truly dead, men literally pushed and shoved their way past me. Thanks fellas.
Finally, I make it to the bottom, only to be confronted by turnstiles. I dig in my purse for a train token. Hurried commuters push past as I make my way to the ticket booth. Now, how to get me and my trusty suitcase through the turnstile? Just as I’m ready to pick it up over my head and throw it, the man in the booth points to the gate behind me. I push the gate. Nothing happens. I keep pushing but to no avail. I look over at him. He gestures and mouths something at me, but I’m plugged into my iPod and don’t have a free hand to take out an earphone, so I don’t know what the hell he’s saying. Finally, a passerby realizes that it’s entirely too early for a game of charades and opens the gate for me.
I follow the signs for the northbound platform and discover more stairs. Better yet, there is a whole bunch of people coming up, meaning a) I just missed a train, and b) I have to battle against the flow of traffic. I pick up my suitcase and weave through people ungracefully, trying to make it to the bottom in one piece. When I finally do, the doors of the awaiting train are closing. I must have been a sorry sight as, shockingly, the train driver opened the doors. I jumped on and collapsed for two stops.
At my next stop, I put on my game face, ready to tackle the crowds and find the stairs down to the platform. Swarms of people are pushing up. Before I knew it, I was being carried unwillingly on a wave of people, desperately trying to hang onto my monster suitcase. Actually, they did me a favor and I ended up at another stairway that was less busy. Out of breath, I got to the platform and boarded the train, exiting at the last stop to catch the bus for the airport.
Thankfully, there were escalators, though they can be both a blessing and a curse when you have luggage. No matter which way you do it, you never know which step your luggage will end up on. I got on first and naturally my case missed a step so I had to do a casual lean back trying to maintain my grip. Once at the top, I find myself doing a lap of this huge bus station trying to find the airport bus. Needless to say, having reached one end, I’m told it’s at the other.
The bus, though billed as the ‘airport bus’ is actually just regular city bus, which doesn’t easily accommodate large numbers of people with multiple pieces of luggage. I’m wedged between two people, all three of us with our suitcases lodged between our knees and chins. At each stop more people get on, tripping over people, bag straps and whatever else, making it possibly the most uncomfortable bus ride in history.
Finally, we make it to the airport and I’m able to check in my cumbersome case. Lines through security are long, as people bundle their things into grey trays to be scanned. I take off my coat and pile it onto the conveyor belt. I see they’re asking certain people to remove their shoes, but I’m confident that the woman will appreciate the amount of work that went into my jeans/knee high boots (with no zips) combo and won’t ask me to remove them. As I begin my stride through the metal detector, the woman points at my boots. Before I can say ‘I know, they’re nice aren’t they?’ she says ‘Off!’ I smile sweetly and say “Are you kidding me?” Apparently not. We had a boot Nazi in our midst. Resistance was futile.
Knowing the removal of these boots is a ten-minute operation; I take a seat and start pulling. Meanwhile, a girl wearing Ugg boots marches right on through. She should have been asked to remove those purely on the grounds of having no taste. Ugg boots? Seriously? Take them off and leave them off. Do the world a favor and travel barefoot. It’s clear I’m being singled out because I have great sense of style. But seriously, skin tight jeans and tight knee-high boots – what was I going to smuggle down there? Ugg boots on the other hand, don’t even get my started on the number of concealed weapons you could stash in just one of those woolly wonders.
After ten minutes of yanking, pulling and stuffing jeans into boots, I was finally allowed to pass through. I applaud the vigilance, but as a rule, ugly footwear should always be the first to come off.
At last on board, I sink into my seat and start dreaming about Christmas trees and Grammie’s pumpkin pie. A bit of a kafuffle breaks out around me as people in the row in front are asked to check their seat numbers – I pay no attention, but silently chuckle at people who can’t read a ticket correctly. Then I hear: “Excuse me, Miss, excuse me.” You’ve guessed it; I’m in the wrong seat. As is always the case with these things, I was sitting in a window seat so had to disrupt two whole rows and keep a huge line of people waiting to get to their seats as I moved. As much as I paid for that seat, it should have come with the ability to open up and swallow me whole.
Related posts:
Tags: christmas, motherf**king uggs, subway
