if i spend 8 hours in the airport, awaiting a connecting flight to somewhere else, can i officially say i've been in toronto? from my seat near the window and across from a plasma screen blaring canadian news, i have two conclusions: it's cold here. and they really, really love hockey.
my first experience with a canadian was less than wonderful. we flew one of the smallest commercial planes known to man on the way here, and while d and i were orignially seated together, we were informed shortly before boarding the plane that air canada had neglected to block off seats for its crew, and that we were being placed one row apart from each other. the attendant shrugged it off like it was no big deal - just get someone to switch with one of you, she said.
ok.
so we are among the first people to board, and d sits in the tinytiny seat next to me, and we wait for a moment until a large-ish man approaches looking a bit confused, glancing several times at his boarding pass. 'our seats were changed last minute,' d says. 'mind if i switch with you so that i can sit with my wife?' large-ish man looks slightly bewildered, but agreeably sits in the row ahead of us...for a moment. another man, this one thin and well dressed, has appeared in the aisle and reaches to put his luggage overhead. he smells nice. he would be a nice seatmate. it is at this point that large-ish man says, 'we better get back to our seats till we get this sorted out, eh?' d looks at me confusedly, gets up, and moves to the aisle. large-ish man sits beside me and settles in. thin, nice-smelling other man has scooted into the row ahead, and d moves in beside him.
so now, i am sitting with large-ish man, and d looks back and asks me if i'm ok. 'no,' i say adamantly. what the heck? get what sorted out? i glance beside me; large-ish man has put his seatbelt on, and is apparently settling in. d and i exchange looks, and i again say, 'no, we were supposed to sit together. can we talk to someone?' but the line is building in the aisle, and d helplessly sits down, and again asks me if i'm ok, to which i answer 'NO' more adamantly this time, because it is becoming clear that either large-ish man is mentally retarded, or he is being remarkably inconsiderate, or he has some reason for wanting to sit with me.
as the plane started to taxi, i was fuming. i felt completely taken advantage of by this man who, for no apparent reason, refused to move. i began praying furiously about the hate rising in my heart over something as small as a 90 minute flight to toronto. i attempted concocting various scenarios that could involve him not either being a boor or a pervert. perhaps he is incredibly compulsive and would itch the whole flight because his ticket number and seat number didn't match. perhaps he has a ritual that involves never sitting in row 4.
the plane finally landed, and i had worked myself into being merely annoyed when the finale occurred: on the tram to the terminal, large-ish man began to chat with thin, well-dressed man! they were at least acquaintantes, and at most friends! i have been in this airport for 6 hours now, and i am still bewildered slash frustrated slash downright angry, and keep hoping i run into him again so that i can ask point-blank what in the name of toronto was going on.
care to offer a guess?
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