« Flower Power | Main | How I Know The Crazy Isn't Just In My Head »
February 25, 2008
Call Me Dante
I started the day in Washington and ended it in Vancouver. Along the way, I visited the seven circles of travel hell.
One
I had to leave the house at 5 a.m. to make my flight, and on the way there I forgot for a second that I was flying out of DCA (I normally go from IAD) and managed to miss the exit from the beltway. I ended up having to exit several miles down the road and then turn around and high-tail it back to the proper exit, praying that I would make my flight.
Two
Arriving just a bit late (but not THAT late, considering), the auto-check-in machine told me it was too late to check in for an international flight (what?!) but that I could try for "standby for $50”. I used my most charming smile and convinced the guy at the counter to manually check me in (thank goodness for carry-on only). I made the flight with time to spare, proving that a 90-minute international check-in rule is stupid.
Three
I had even MORE time to spare during my layover in Chicago, when my second flight was delayed for an hour because of some sort of anti-freeze mechanical issue.
Four
And THEN I got to sit next to a guy who had absolutely no respect for the seat boundaries and kept jabbing his elbow into my side--which, I feel goes without saying, was CLEARLY within my own seating area. He was a substantial (but not humongous) guy, and I think he was overcompensating for the substantial (and very humongous) guy on the aisle, but my sympathy was limited. VERY limited.
Five
Once I arrived the fun wasn't over, because I got to spend an hour in the customs line--yay! And then when I finally got to the front of the line, I was politely, but firmly, directed over to the immigration counter. This happens about every other time I go to Canada--I don't have a work permit and technically I don't need one (it's a gray area), but sometimes they want the immigration people to give it the official okay.
Six
So off to the immigration counter I went. Well, apparently it was "immigrate to Canada day" because the line stretched out the door. With only four immigration officials working the desks, and each person taking approximately 25 minutes (I had ample time to take an informal survey), it was like watching grass grow. In fact, it took me an additional 1 hour and 55 minutes to make it though the line, only to have the immigration guy take one look at my declaration form, ask me three pro forma questions, give me the stamp of approval, and send me on my way.
Seven
I made my way out into the beautiful spring-like Vancouver afternoon (having missed my meeting by a full 2 hours), and hopped right into a waiting cab. A-ha, I thought--things are starting to look up. And they were, right up until the point where the taxi driver HIT A PEDESTRIAN. That's right--high drama in the city.
---
So that's my sad story for the day...after that things got decidedly better. I somehow got booked in the "gold" level of my very fancy hotel, which means that I have access to a swanky guest lounge with a fully stocked bar, happy hour appetizers, a stunning balcony overlooking the harbor, and a concierge team whose sole purpose is to see to my every whim. Oh, and dozens of businessmen who had the good graces to leave their wives at home. So far this evening I have enjoyed a steam bath and am now happily sitting in my plush robe in bed (which got a turn-down service while I was marinating) waiting for my room service dinner (carrot soup and cobb salad) to arrive. I have a list of spa treatments for tomorrow sitting on the desk, thanks to the concierge staff, and plan to be tucked in my 750-thread count sheets by 9 p.m. Let's just hope I don't have “hitting the pedestrian” dreams all night.
