Rodney Sanches
Today, after my participation in the workforce
I embarked upon the trip to allow me to embark on another, longer trip.
Desiring to pay for my flights with cash, I boarded a bus and rolled towards the South Terminal of the local aeroplane hangout.
In my ears iPod earphones helping me ignore the sounds and noises that make the urban environment cacophonous. A little boy sitting before me is licking the window and farting. the man taking care of him, tried all sorts of forms of reasoning to alter this behaviour, reasoning that I could not hear, and they all failed. the little boy expressed his self in ways impossible to blot out with musical ear plugs. Just a little distressing.
Arriving at a juncture of buses, I search and locate my stop. It is immediately clear that the final bus to South Terminal has left 5 minutes previous to my arrival.
I board another big, blue bus to the Regular Terminal, frowning.
At the Regular Terminal, I found a sign, outside, next to a road that had the words “South Terminal” written on it. I stood under this reassuring sign. Next to that sign was another, smaller sign, on a nearby wall. Printed on a sheet of letter paper, landscape, this sheet of paper, in a clear loose plastic envelope had the name of the airline that I wished to buy tickets from, and this sign expressed, in military time, that a shuttle would drive, open its doors and usher me in, every 30 minutes. Military time is always reassuring, none of that weak civilian “am, pm” nonsense.
55 minutes later, after a short phone call with Laurie at the airline, she lets me know that the shuttle was a problem all day long and assured that it is on its way.
I think for a while that it might be possible that travelling out of the city will be easier than this experience, though I worry about being infected with optimism and instead ignore these thoughts by watch an aerobatic bird display. I took pictures of the birds and other important looking structures, hoping a security guard will drive me to the South Terminal.
Later the shuttle arrives and we are on course to the South Terminal. The driver is complaining on his cell phone, how long this day is, how there will be further delays, he is telling his friends to meet him at Boston Pizza, I wanted to shout out that it was Ribragious at Boston Pizza, but did not. There is a hockey game playing on the radio, local team is loosing.
I arrive at the South Terminal.
Striding to the counter, I encounter 2 women, in suits. I explain that I want to buy tickets to the first one. She looks at me like I am wearing a hat made of jello. I end up speaking to the other woman. I tell her all about my trip and when i want to go, where I want to be and everything. She tells me I am not buying a “ticket”, but a “booking”, she tells me is is $81 dollars more than I had established using the internet.
Eighty one dollars, I feel uncomfortable, pained.
I complain, explain about what I found on, “the internet”
She tells me about the long weekend, how it adds costs to tickets and that they can change price at any moment.
I give her a confused look.
I decide to put off that transaction for a moment.
I book the return flight booking, it is the usual cost. The internet one.
We return to the contentious first leg of my journey.
I accept the pain and suffering that comes with the extra costs, I use a secret Visa that I have for emergencies. I begin notice something in her behaviour, unease grows around my ankles, snaking slowly upwards, looking for jello.
She whispers to her suited associate, “I have something to tell you”. My disquiet grows. She has a secret, I am sure it it concerns me. I have so much disquiet I can harvest it and sell it in markets, overseas, where this airline cannot fly.
“This is an open booking” she informs me as I prepare to leave the counter, “you can change it, if you need to” I give her a funny look.
“I won’t,” I say, slowly, leaving.
There is a taxi outside the terminal, the driver is treating me like a normal person, I concluded that my suit wearing friend could not have noticed something peculiar on my person. I review my bookings, again and once more. I am set to travel in 1 day, rather than 32 day as I have planned. I feel a number of complex emotion move over one another. The home team is down 3.
I get out at the bus cluster, get on another bus, pointing north and begin rumbling to my home. At the first stop, I get out, find a pay phone and call the number on the booking paper, it is not longer active. I get my quarter back and call the toll free number. We converse, I am absolved of all responsibility by the voice on the sticky receiver. The flight is changed to the one I was thinking of. The $81 is heading back to the secret Visa.
Later I have an enchilada and a beer at a prize winning Mexican restaurant.