Arrival, Surreal

The inevitable crash of energy came after we arrived in Canada. I went through the twitchy-with-nerves phase on the way to my local airport. Friend was glad to be rid of me, I’m sure, though she did give me a hug when I demanded it. Then I endured the flights, still tense but calmer than I had been. I just wanted to be done, honestly. And though I was battling to stay alert, aware and efficient, when my entire flight boarded a shuttle to take us to customs, I sagged in my seat while breathing in exhaust fumes for 10 minutes while we waited for pokey passengers to make their ways to the bus. Screw it, I thought, and let exhaustion take over and the world fade to a hazy set of objects.

It took me a good 5 minutes to realize the first lane was shorter than the second as I stared at the signs welcoming me to Canada. I glanced around for a moment, evaluated which agent looked friendlier, and plodded over to a new line. I stood while people moved to the red line and past the red line and thought it might be nice to sit and chat with people all the time. Where’d you go? What’d you bring back? Why are you visiting? It’s like hearing vacation stories but you get paid!

“Hi,” I said to cute customs agent before handing him my passport. I’m sure I looked more sleepy than nervous and he took a moment to smile before asking me where I came from and why I was here. “There’s a conference downtown,” I told him solemnly, wanting to treat the situation with the gravity it deserved.

“So you work at the hospital?” he asked after I told him what I did.

“The medical center,” I replied and cocked my head when he looked at me for a moment. “Oh,” I finally said sheepishly. “Those are the same thing. Sorry.”

“No alcohol or tobacco?” he asked while he shook his head a bit and scribbled on my form.

“None,” I said happily, pleased we were almost done.

“Good,” he replied with a final grin. “They’re not good for you anyway.”

“I’d heard that,” I said, “but I appreciate the reminder.” I heard him chuckle as I walked down another aisle, hoping it would take me to my checked bag. It did and I tugged the rolling suitcase along behind me, eagerly awaiting the cab ride that would deposit me at the hotel so I could shower and rest.

“Taxi?” A short, young man asked when I came around the corner and moved around a crowd of people toward where the arrow under the pictures of cars pointed.

“Yes,” I said, glancing at him before moving a couple steps farther toward the doors that led outside. He reached for my suitcase and I relinquished the handle without complaint as he asked where I was headed.

“Downtown,” I replied and offered the name of my hotel.

“I’ll take you,” he said decisively and I followed him to an escalator. It wasn’t until he led me into a deserted parking garage that I snapped out of my foggy acquiescence and became alarmed.

‘This doesn’t seem good,” a voice said in my head. When another, louder voice screamed, ‘What the fuck are you doing?!’ I smiled and thought that I had a PP character in my brain, realized even Friend would scold me for this decision, and paused near the door we’d just entered and glanced around at the concrete columns the separated that parking areas.

“Where are we going?” I asked, aware that he still had all my clothes and toiletries but deciding that some belated caution was better than none at all. He pointed to an area that contained 2 vehicles and I took two steps forward before pausing again. I stayed where I was, unsure of what to do next and feeling really more stupid than afraid, and blinked at him when he turned around.

“You’re going downtown,” he confirmed and named my hotel while I nodded. I must have looked indecisive and moderately freaked out because he named a price, said he could give me a receipt when I got there and opened the rear door of a minivan before moving to put my luggage in the back.

I weighed the chances of getting murdered and having my body found somewhere in this country to our north against the more probable outcome of getting to the hotel safely and not having to find my way back to the terminal and catching another cab. Then I shrugged philosophically and stepped into the minivan.

“Where are all the people? Why’d we come up here?” I asked, already committed to the ride but remaining curious as to my fate. He explained that he didn’t plan to work for long and didn’t feel like paying the fee to pull around front. So he grabbed people as they came out and went to the parking area. I nodded and listened while he talked about his children and his goal of playing professional sports and housing prices and his wife and various girlfriends.

Just when you think it can’t get any stranger, we arrived at the hotel and found massive amounts of traffic in front. I briefly wondered if I was dreaming – there were bright lights and classic cars and people dressed up in clothing from decades ago. Oh, crap, I thought mildly. There’s Santa Claus in front of my hotel. I finally had the psychotic break. I spared a moment to feel grateful I was too tired to be overly worried about this new development when my driver offered that they must be shooting a movie.

“Oh,” I said softly. “So you see Santa too?” He was busy trying to find a place to stop – we parked behind a water truck and I wondered if they were going to make it rain soon and thought that I rather liked rain – and didn’t answer. I grabbed my suitcase and carried it toward the front doors, unable to let it roll through the puddles that had already formed.

“Excuse me,” I said to a well-dressed couple from the 20s. They moved aside and I wandered toward the entrance (and consequently toward Santa – I’m so seriously not making this up), admired a woman in red and her perfect hair and clothing and paused next to a man who was exquisitely gorgeous and a bit scruffy.

“Hi,” I said, busy admiring him for a moment. He allowed me to gaze at his face until I blinked myself back to reality and smiled. “Um, may I go in?” He nodded and smiled and I let my lips curve dreamily in return.

I now sit, contacts out and glasses on, freshly showered and clad in pajamas, writing a blog post I won’t publish until tomorrow morning. (It's tomorrow morning! Hello, blog friends!) I could note that the attendant on my first flight was a power-hungry twit. She was adamant about me putting my purse in my slender laptop case because you can only have one carry-on. (Freaking new rules – screw you, Northwest. Seriously. Not Cool.) Then she sat at the front when we landed and yelled out seat numbers of people who had unfastened their seat belts while we waited for the ground crew to come. “8C, fasten your seat belt! And tell you neighbor in front of you to do it too.” Then she laughed but she laughed alone – I think we had a uniform hatred of her, which is impressive for a 30 minute flight.

Then there was the endless line to get my room key. Why do all the people at 11PM have complicated questions and problems? I’m sleepy! And everything’s seeming really surreal! I saw Santa, for crying out loud! I could have been killed not 20 minutes ago! It’s really hard to stuff a medium sized purse in a relatively full laptop case and I’m Really Very Tired!

It sums up to the fact that I’m here safely. And I’m going to bed. (And I don’t know that I’ll buy internet while I’m in my room, so you may be stuck with posts I publish from the conference. I miss you already!)