A Night In The Chapel (aka: Toronto How We Hate Thee Pt. 2)
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A Night in the Chapel (AKA: Toronto how we hate thee pt 2)
That's right. Three nights in a row, go me!
However now's the time to introduce a little something new.
You may recall the original rules of FOR SCIENCE! but for those of you who do not, I shall repost them for your viewing pleasure--and add in the final piece (For now)
- Every day I will write a minimum of 2,000 words. This can be about any subject.
- Throughout the week I will collect comments on what people are interested in me writing about. Any subject that is BZP appropriate will be considered. Any subject I am not familiar with must be presented with enough information that I can have at least a loose understanding of it.
- Every Friday I will randomly select one of the choices given and write 4,000 words on that given subject.
- Lather, Rinse, Repeat.
- I will accept additional challenges on an an occasional basis. This can include length, using certain words, using a certain style, or using a certain phrase--or anyything else you can think of!
Makaru - Furmanisms. A candy store full. 5000 words or less, just to be nice.
Bossman - write about being raised by moosen in the Yukon Territories
So vote away, and the winning choice will be my 4,000 word story tomorrow!
I suppose the first thing I could say about the Toronto Airport (Pearson International, for those of you playing along at home!) is that.
Dude. Big.
I mean wow, talk about compensating.
But in all seriousness it's pretty enormous—and not particularly well staffed. Makes it fun for when you are trying to find out where to go. As a general rule of thumb, follow the SIGNS.
Ah yes, the signs. A rather prevalent feature in airports, signs advertising services, boards with flight delays and arrivals, signs that direct you where to go. Ah, Signs.
So I followed the myriad of signs to my eventual destination. Let's see…International Baggage, Departures, Baggage Claim, and International Transfers.
Ah! The last one, that's the ticket.
And so I went: Down the hallway, through the security guarded doors (Remember this, it'll be important), up a staircase, up another staircase, and finally over a bridge…like…thing.
Ah, at International Transfers I get to stop in at International baggage check. Okay!
Now I am a naturally observant person, so I see the people in line pulling out their boarding passes and their passports—and being the astute man I am I garner I am to do the same. No problem!
And so I reached into my pocket and pulled out my boarding passes and my…wait…wait….wait.
Passport.
Where?
In a frantic scramble that was likely akin to someone with flesh eating ants on their skin I tore into every pocket I had on my person. No passport.
Oh man.
Well, first we gotta find out about the status of the flight anyhow, right? And when I check on that it's sure to turn up, right?
Yeah, not so much. Oh, and the flight's cancelled.
GLEE.
And thus began a desperate flight to my point of origin (in the airport, thanks. I have no intention of returning to the womb). I raced down the hallway, down the stairs and
HOLD UP THERE SIR. THIS DOOR IS SECURITY GUARDED, WHY DO YOU WANT THROUGH?
Wait, what? I just needed to get through to get my passport. And so I attempted to explain this clearly and concisely, transmitting my urgent need and panic—after all, I could still catch another flight!
Instead it ended up more like verbal vomit, as I sprayed out "Ithinkmypassport'sontheplanecanIgetthrough?"
She looked at me with something resembling pity, and something resembling an eye-quirk. Like an odd mixture of sympathy and what-did-you-just-say-you-strange-strange-man.
However in the end I was strongly DENIED entry back in there. After all I might be a terrorist or something like that!
However, she did politely inform me whereabouts I could find the lost and found and report my passport as missing. Lovely.
So I strolled down another set of stairs, desperately trying not to hyperventilate (AND FAILING HORRIBLY) and walked through another set of security doors. Ah, the main foyer, crowded with bazillions of people—likely there to pick others up. Avoiding this throng of people I found the little hole-in-the-wall that was the Lost and Found.
It was quiet in there, which was nice—but of course it also allowed me to focus on my incredibly rapid heartbeat and utter PANIC. (For those of you wondering about my terror, International travel via air ==IMPOSSIBLE without a passport. To put it in mathematical terms Plane + America-Passport=NO). And I reported it to the man behind the desk. He had the people cleaning the plane check aaaaaand.
No.
CRUD.
He then said gave me a number I could phone and told me to check Canada Customs which was just down the hall. HOKAYS.
And down the hallway I go to Canada Customs (Another hole-in-the-wall office WHICH HIDES A SECRET), and to make a long story short: There ain't no passport there for me. I get another number I can phone and the best words of 'comfort' I have ever heard.
"It really depends when they're handed in. It usually takes about two-three hours to clean the plane, but passports can come in as late as FIVE DAYS after that." (Emphasis mine)
Don't you feel so secure now?
Well, with that problem being solved (supposedly) I needed to fix the second one, mainly being stranded in an airport like a bazillion miles from home.
So just to complete my (first) circuit around the airport I dashed upwards towards the international baggage check, and went to one of the many "Help Phones" that were scattered around the airport.
Or rather I should say I joined the line for one of the many "Help" phones that were scattered around the airport. Because there were lines, oh were there lines.
Twenty miuntes ticked by, followed by forty, followed by fifty, and I engaged in conversation with my fellow stranded passengers, oh what a merry time was had by all!
And then glory of glories it was my turn to hold the phone, can you believe it? I dialed the requisite three digit number to call up my airline and glory be….I got to be on hold for another FORTY MINUTES.
(Protip: If you cancel a million flights, have your switchboard ready to receive A HUNDRED THOUSAND CALLS. Otherwise your customer service does indeed suck)
At last I got through, and was met with a REAL HUMAN VOICE. Truly an amazing thing. They informed me that they're very sorry but all the flights to New York were cancelled, however they could get me the earliest booking coming up very soon. The first flight left at 6:00 PM Sunday, what luck!
Well, I hung up the phone happy that my little situation was resolved, now all I had to do was relax, wait for my passport to be found, and wait a single night. I could wait a single night, right?
Cell phone rings, pick it up. Ah, it's my girlfriend. Lovely to hear from her, we chat, I let her know when the earliest flight is. She pauses.
"Sunday?"
"Yep"
"That's two days!"
"No it's not, that's only….wait. Today's Friday, isn't it?"
"Yep."
"…..I'm going to need to call them again"
And thus my wonderful call ended and the panic returned. However I felt that (having had a few hours pass) surely there would be some response from Canada Customs about my passport, right?
And so I bolted downstairs once more, one by one my mental strings beginning to detach.
To make a long story short: No.
And for those of you who are thinking of the lost and found: No.
Well, I guess it's time to wait in line at the phone again. But wait! The phone rings once more! Ah, it's my girlfriend again, informing me that if I BUS through the border I do not in fact need a passport. BRILLIANCE.
Well, I check customs, they say I'm good to go with the I.D. I do have on me. Awesome!
The phone rings.
I'm informed that someone's done some checking and that my I.D. might not be valid to get through the US Border (And Canada Customs may be wrong on this, after all, they're not immigration). Well, damper on the enthusiasm, but I may as well try, right?
All I need to do now I cancel that flight on Sunday, like heck I'm staying in the airport for TWO days. Ick.
Long story short again: Wait in line = 35 minutes.
Wait on hold = 1 hour.
Flight cancelled, money refunded. Delightful.
Awright, now all I need to do is get my luggage and I can catch that bus!
Problem: Luggage isn't in International Baggage claim. I wait for a good HOUR looking/checking at the front desk before any real help is offered to me. By this time it is dark outside and I have received several calls from various people.
Solution: Check domestic baggage claim!
Problem: Luggage isn't in domestic baggage claim
Solution: Crud. I got nothing.
Well, this is fun. I may as well check Canada Customs again, right? Still no passport. Oh what fun this trip has become!
Phone rings (By the way, this became a common occurrence), more checking has turned up the fact that I almost definitely cannot get into the states with the I.D. I have on me. Time to re-book that flight.
So I stand in line at the ticket counter (You really think I wanted to go back to that dang phone?) for a good…oh, two hours. Receiving phone calls and getting to know my fellow passengers. Why am I stuck in line so long? Well because there's a line of about 50 people and there are…2 service agents.
Wait, scratch that. One just left.
We now have one service agent and…oh, 60 people. The line's getting bigger and the people are getting smaller. Is this fun yet?
Someone complains, police are called, manager arrives and tells us that she absolutely WILL NOT put more staff on this desk, and instead invites us all to go to the ticket counter on the ground floor. There are complaints, grumbling (Who wants to lose their place in line?) but eventually compliance.
After a period of getting completely lost we finally find our way to the ticket counter, and surprise, surprise: we've all lost our places in line.
Ah, but there is good news! A young gentleman approaches from the counter and asks "Who is traveling to the states?" Many hands go up and he basically states the following: (Note this is not verbatim and may be tinged with bitterness)
"Sucks to be you, all flights are cancelled. Have a voucher with a phone number for how to get a discounted hotel room and a number for the booking phone number. Now get out of line"
Yaaaaaaaaay.
There are several more check-ins at Canada Customs, none of which give off any result. Glee.
Finally I cave in and call the number, after all, who wants to sleep in the Airport?
Ring, ring, ring. Ah, there's a young man at the other end. He asks where I am, and I let him know.
"The discount tonight is at the Holiday in, the per-night cost is $99 dollars"
Excuse me, what? That sound you heard? That was my jaw dropping. This is a discount?
"Oh, and the last shuttle left ten minutes ago, I'm afraid you'll have to take a taxi. Will you be booking a room?"
Yeah, No.
Phone hung up. Begin operation: Wander Airport looking for good place to sleep!
Hours pass, finally a suitable location is found. The Airport Chapel's waiting room, in fact this is such a grand sleeping spot that someone is already sleeping there. Good thing there's enough room.
By now I'm exhausted and paranoid (After all it's almost certain my passport has been stolen rather than simply lost. Either that or the people looking are…incompetent to say the least.) so I pull out my heavy jacket and drape it over myself. Hiding my carry-on bag, and myself from view. I'm also keeping all my valuables as close to my person as possible.
I likely slept for about…oh, two hours. It's still dark, but I need something to drink.
Tim Hortons is open, there's a line…a massive line, but a line nonetheless. I secure myself a spot and wait…and wait…and wait. Ah, almost at the end now, only about 20 people left in front of me!
The manager comes out, they're closing.
What.
Well, with nothing else to do I decide I should go back to sleep. But this time I'll sleep more comfortably—my back hurts from sitting up while sleeping.
I find an outlet to charge my cellphone (it's dying by this time), lay on the ground with it in my hand, and again drape my heavy coat over myself and all my possessions.
I wake up about two hours later (Total hours of sleep thus far: 7, and that's being generous)
I'm exhausted, it's not comfortable sleeping here and the feeling of utter terror of being completely isolated far from home is one that I do not look forward to experiencing again. I need to get out.
I call my parents and my girlfriend and inform them. They understand.
For sake of brevity let me simply say that after another hour on the phone I have tickets back to Vancouver, and an hour later I have established that the airport has indeed misplaced my luggage. My joy is boundless.
Needless to say my boarding pass doesn't print off, I get to wait in line for another hour (around 200 people, maybe 5 people on duty out of 10-12), but finally I'm confirmed to be going home.
And then my flight is delayed.
By an hour.
Wheeeeee.
And that's about the end of it, now as I said, for sake of brevity I have not included everything (For example a report to the police, and said police acting rudely), however that's the jist of it.
My luggage was found, my passport was not.
I arrived safely in Vancouver, if somewhat exhausted.
Total hours slept over three days: 9
I have no desire to ever fly with that company again, and no desire to visit Pearson Airport ever again.
Hope you enjoyed my suffering.
Total Word Count: 2,211
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