Musings During A 3-Hour Layover And 3 Flights

Text and photos © Robert Barry Francos 

It is taking me three flights to get to my destination, including one going 400 miles in the opposite direction. I really, truly enjoy puddle-jumper planes that seat 24 passengers or less. True the luggage space is smaller, but, but usually the legroom is larger; seems an even compromise. 

The person who designed the luggage on wheels deserves some kind of medal or statue. Not that mine has one, though. It keeps me “honest” and from over-packing, though. I always feel better when I travel with carryon, especially on international trips where I don’t have to wait on line at customs and also wait for luggage. It always feels like some kind of “coup”, in a Native American / First Nations sense of the word. 

What is the point of having monitors blaring some news channel in the waiting areas, other than the airline getting subsidized by said news channel? Just makes rude, loud people on cell phones that much louder to talk over them. 

I’ve never ridden one of those intra-terminal golf cart vehicles that take people from gate to gate, but they look like fun. 

Morally, why is it more than twice as expensive to fly from New York to Toronto one way as it is from New York to Mexico City with a return trip? 

Why do most airports that have moving walkways usually only have them going in one direction; aren’t there people needing to go both ways? Also, if one is on a moving sidewalk and no desire to walk it, please stand to the right so that other can. 

The prices for food near the gates…WHAT?! 

I saw a couple of those card inserts they put in publications for subscriptions on the floor by the gate for MAD magazine; it made me smile. 

I understand the desire to chew gum when in an airplane to ease ear pressure, but I do not understand the desire to snap it when there is someone strapped into a seat next to you less than a foot away. 

One of my favorite things about waiting at the gate to fly to Montreal is the higher possibility of hearing Yiddish spoken.

Reading the Globe and Mail or New York Times is challenging when sitting in an airplane seat, especially if you are not on the aisle, and extra-especially if the person in front of you pushes their chair into a reclining position. This is also true if one is using a laptop. 

Television programs still show people saying hello and goodbye at the gate, which was an impossibility even before 9/11. This makes it difficult to meet friends during long layovers because it means yet another trip through the screening.

Air Canada used to give away earphones like they were M&Ms, but now they charge $3. Instead, on the first flight I turned the “personal TV” to Family Guy because I know them well enough that I don’t need the sound to laugh at the lines (which is like the time…). On the second leg, I did the same with The Big Bang Theory (Sheldon has the best t-shirts, but that’s for another musings blog). The last leg, which was the longest, I watched RocknRolla which did not seem to have as much action as Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels, so I ended up watching most of it in double speed; then I watched a documentary about silent film comedies, which seemed appropriate without headsets. 

I have had a number of fun conversations with row mates on planes, but on the first leg of this particular journey, the person was kind of rude. She literally slammed down the armrest and then hogged all of it; she held up a book so I could not see out the window, though it was pretty obvious I was trying to do so; she was texting and then phoning as soon as we grounded, before docking (a no-no); though I said hello and goodbye, she never even looked in my direction as acknowledgement. I respect not wanting to talk, but even some kind of look to concede someone else is there seemed out of the question. As she was in her early ‘20s, maybe she will learn eventually. 

While there is still a bit of distance to walk in the Toronto airport from the international area to the domestic side, it is still way better than it used to be where one had to take a long walk, an intra-airport shuttle bus, and then another long walk, which took a long time. Thanks for finishing the construction! 

Customs was a snap! Basically the guy asked me the purpose of my visit, and one other question. After a 20 minute wait to get to the desk, I’m through in less than 1 minute. The woman at the airline gate checking tickets looks a lot like Janeane Garofalo. A pilot is sitting in front of me in the waiting area reading a travel guide to Cuba, something one is not likely to see at a US airport. Except for the bilingual signs, Toronto’s airport feels the same as any in New York. 

On the second flight, I sat next to a fiddle player who put the instrument into the overhead. She looks like someone I know named Melissa R-. While wanting to sleep more than talk, she informs me that she fiddles for fun and does not record. She has a cold I come to learn; fiddlesticks, I hope I don’t catch anything. Woman in front of me is speed reading the thick Slumdog Millionaire novel, Evelyn Woods style, with her finger swishing over each page. Though a short flight, she is about a quarter of the way through the book. No matter how much one retains, how does one absorb and think about what one is reading? 

Only about a 20 minute wait between the second and third flight, and the sun is setting. My left tush is sore, and I am only about half way through my travels. For the last flight, I’m at the window seat for row 19. Only there is no window at this seat; there is one behind me and in front, but not next to me. As if that wasn’t claustrophobic enough, I’m sitting next to a “gentleman” who is not only hogging the armrest, but his elbow is sticking into my ribs. Plus, he's a wide sitter, so his knee is pressing mine. I do not like this guy. He is on his way to a biotech conference to make a presentation, so he should be smart enough to know better. By the time this flight is over, odds are I will be pushing back. 

I love the free newspapers. Today I’ve read The Globe and Mail, The National Post, and the Ottawa Citizen. The big stories seem to be the economy and about a Saskatoon ex-tribal leader who, after being admonished by a judge for his remarks, was then found not guilty of public antiemetic remarks (basically, he publicly claimed that if Hitler didn’t do such a good job, the Jews would have taken over). 

In just a little over a month, planes have crashed into the Hudson and a house near Buffalo, and yet, I feel no fear about flying, even during turbulence. Was just about to nap, when the infant in the seat directly in front of mine starting wailing, and yet I find this less annoying than listening to someone on a cell phone; perhaps because the caller chooses to be disruptive, and baby is just being itself. 

Took 35 minutes for the guy next to me to retreat (somewhat) to his side. I guess I could have asked him to move, but despite being from New York, I’m not that aggressive. Maybe I just work better as passive aggressive? As all this was settling down, he suddenly flips up the armrest that separates us. If he asked, I wouldn’t have cared, actually, but he didn’t ask, he just assumed. Wonder how he is with people who work for him? 

Someone close ordered some Pringles. What do people see in them? They are so much more bland compared to Wise, Kerrs, or Utz. Never been much of a Lay’s man (yes, I can eat just one), but I still prefer them over Pringles. 

Left my apartment at 7:30 AM, and it is almost 9 PM, with at least a half hour to go to landing. I am tired, Jack! 

Landed 15 minutes late, but considering I took three flights and was able to meet with each of them and get here this close to being on-time, I am happy.

Traveling in Canada, April 2008

All ffotos by RBF

The airport was pretty empty at the Canadian airport at 5 AM. It was late April and the sun was already rising. At the ticket counter, while checking-in, there was only one person ahead of me. I was nice and calm as there was an hour before my flight home.

Amazingly, the duty free/newsstand/gift shop was open, so I went in and bought some presents for the person who was taking care of our cats, and a book on local ghost stories that was perfect for travel on a little amount of sleep in that they are short and do not take much brainpower.

There were about 30 people on line for the security check, but the line was moving relatively swiftly. Everyone seemed in a good mood, albeit sleepy. I had my backpack and a small carry bag, with nothing checked. I like to travel light, if compact.

Soon it was my turn and I took off my jacket and put it in the gray plastic basket, put my computer in another, and passed along my bags through the x-ray. They didn’t want my shoes, which is always a bonus. Everything was going smoothly.

However, if there was a soundtrack, the tones would probably be turning into disonant.

I stepped through the metal detectors without a peep, and waited for my bags. And waited. I was used to this; for some reason my bags always get second looks, my guess is usually because of the cords and cables that come along with the computer, or whatever. As I am not a smuggler, and as such had absolutely no contraband, I wasn’t worried. This happened plenty of times before.

Also as common, they asked permission to swab the top of my bags to test for anything weird. No problem. They swabbed and tested. And they closed the line of people waiting to go through behind me. A very stern woman in uniform came over and said, “If it’s all right, I am going to ask someone to come over and frisk you.” Again, nothing of concern as I didn’t have anything on me, other than some minor amounts of paper cash, and cards in my back pocket, such as for the likes of Costco, my work building pass, and the New York Public Library.

She signals over a guy who pleasantly explains that he is going to search me, and is there anything he should know about before he does. I said the truth….nope. After putting on a fresh set of non-rubber gloves, he asked me to stand, with my arms outstretched. He then pats me down. As we’re in the middle of the airport, I wasn’t worried about a cavity search, but it got quite intimate. I was almost expecting him to say, “Mind if I move it over to the left?” It was thorough as it could be, though I didn’t feel violated, but more curious and bemused. I asked him if he wanted me to remove my shoes, but instead he just had me lean of the counter with both hands, and then lift one foot at a time, and he checked them out that way.

Meanwhile, I noted that there were three or four official people taking everything out of my bags, and my jacket, again quite thoroughly. The stern woman asked me (sternly, of course), “Do you know why we are doing this?” I told her no, but that I was definitely curious about it. She said, “Not only did your bag test positive for TNT, but it tested for a large amount of TNT.” Well, she got my attention with that one.

She then inquired if I was near any explosives, or if my bag was near any. Of course, I answered in the negative, explaining that the only place the bag has been in the last 10 days was either on the floor of the bedroom (where there are no explosives), in the cab, and at the airport. That’s it. While I was explaining this, they also swabbed my hands and test it, along with most other things.

Then they had me turn on my computer and my camera, to make sure they were legit. At this point, the stern woman started filling out a form, and I told her my name, rank, and serial number…and anything else she wanted to know (what my job was, where I worked, etc.), and carefully writing with nice, large penmanship).

At this point, I was beginning to wonder if I’d make my flight, as this was taking some time. We never left the space just past the x-ray machines. It was weird, as I was more worried about making the flight than anything else, remaining calm and somewhat cheerful.

She asked me a question that made me nervous then: what is my work phone number. Crap, I don’t know that. I never dial it, so I never remember it. I gave her the area code, the main three digits, but I don’t know my extension; hell, I don’t even know the main front-desk. The idea of checking the computer bottom came to mind, as it is bar coded and property of the place, but all it had was the name of the company. And my work badge is a building pass, not a company pass, so it doesn’t say the name of the company on it. She asked for a business card, but I don’t have one of those either. She finally settled for my home phone.

Still, she seemed to be calming down after this. My guess was it was probably (hopefully) the most exciting thing that happened in that building in a while, other than someone complaining about not being allowed to carry more than 3 oz onto the plane.

Once again she asked about it, and I told her I was flummoxed (though I don’t think I used that word). Basically she said she was flummoxed as well (again, not that word), as just the top of the one bag had the heavy traces, but nothing else did, including the contents of the bag or my hands. I was wondering about the backseat of the cab on the way to the airport, but the trace would have been on the bottom of the bag, not the top. Stern woman said that the fact that it was only present on top eased her conscious, and she turned to the x-ray area and shouted (heck, it was only about 6 feet, she could have whispered), “Open line 3”. With a “have a good day,” she took the form and left.

I zipped up the bags where they had put everything back (would they have returned the contents in NYC?), and walked, somewhat started and bemused, to my gate, and just walked right onto the plane with no wait.

As I only had about 40 minutes between the two next flights (yes, they broke the way home into three sections), I was concerned that my name was on a list somehow, and they would search at each and every turn. But the first connection was smooth, I went through customs with no hassle whatsoever, and when I had to go through the x-ray area again before heading to New York, there was no problem and sailed right through. I wonder what’s going to happen the next time I go through that airport again, though.

[NYC frowny face]
After I arrived home and called my partner to let her know I was alive, I told her of my adventure. She came up with interesting theory about the explosive. Seems the house she’s occupying had a new furnace put in while I was there, and according to the landlady, after it was lit and started, there was a sour smell that permiated the house for about an hour. She figured that perhaps some of whatever it was came out through the registers, and as my bag was on the floor next to one of these vents, it came through an landed on top of the bag. Another possibility was that it was a false positive, such as when one eats poppy seeds and a blood test will read it as positive for heroin.

Either way, I do know that as shortly after I got home, I washed that damn bag.