Zoodle Smuggler.
I got up at 0430 this morning. Now I truly know why it's called an
"ungodly" hour. It was way harsh. I managed to fit everything, including
presents for Lisa, into my suitcase, and it doesn't appear that I have
forgotten a damned thing.
My flight was overbooked this morning, so they switched me from US Air
through Philly to Air Canada through Toronto. This meant that I was only
ten minutes later getting into Providence than I would have been originally,
and I got a free ticket out of it from US Air. So no big deal, and I can
fly anywhere free next time.
Toronto Customs was, as usual, a complete zoo. Twenty minutes before my
boarding time, I was still about 150 people behind the desk. Luckily, they
let some of us go via the express route, so I got through okay. If you've
ever flown to the States through Toronto, you know that you have to walk for
ages to get to your gate, which is lettered A through U. I was gate S
today, which meant I had little more than five minutes to travel the
equivalent of about a kilometre (they have signs telling you how far you
have yet to go). I made it there at 0900 on the dot, which was when they
were
supposed to start boarding, but, despite the fact that there
were only four of us on the plane to Providence, they didn't get us on there
until about 0915 or so. I had time to call my mother, go to the bathroom,
get a drink . . .
In the end, though, I touched down in Providence earlier than I'd expected,
and Lisa and her friend Terence picked me up, which was awesome, because it
meant I didn't have to shell out nine bucks for the slowest shuttle known to
man, which drives especially slowly through the slums of Rhode Island. We
got to Brown in about fifteen minutes, and then raced to make Lisa's noon
lecture. I felt kind of obvious sitting there, in a class of about five,
reading a comic book, but it turns out they were all expecting me, so I
didn't have to be intelligent. I even made a correction to Lisa's notes
when she was in the washroom, so I'm not completely stupid, although I
couldn't have told you what that class was about to save my life.
We went to the crazy pizza place, where they make things like nacho and
black bean pizza (very good, surprisingly) on Thayer (everything is on
Thayer on the Hill) for lunch, and tried to figure out what we were going to
do for the rest of the weekend. Basically, it all revolves around certain
places we have to go to eat on certain days. We want to do a brunch with
Nate, Lisa's boyfriend, we have to go to this great sushi place for dinner
at some point (you can byob there -- it's great!), attend the sacred Spike's
(all they serve is hotdogs), go to Ben & Jerry's on Monday, so I can get
free ice cream, and then to the Meeting Street Cafe (k, so it's not on
Thayer, but it's a block off Thayer) so I can get a free Meeting Street
Cookie (the size of my ass) on my birthday. Other than that, we're just
going to schedule around how lazy we are.
It's only about 1615 now, but Lisa's at crew practise. I elected not to go.
I'll go on Saturday. Anything to avoid seeing Arden as much as I possibly
can. I have until 1900 to not fall asleep. I'm sure I can think of things
to do between now and then . . .
I've been reading far too many comic books recently. It's not my fault. I
have to, for this class I'm taking. I have a handful of them, totally
destroyed by me by now (so no reselling them on eBay, Stef). But they're
not just your average XMen piece of crap. They're pretty heavy, both
literally and metaphysically. They really get me thinking. I might,
sometime, in the next few days, write myself a manifesto. I don't know.
Maybe.
I don't really like flying all that much. I hate being crammed into an
overcrowded and uncomfortable space and being forced to sit still for long
periods of time. I hate the assault on the senses: the recycled air going
through your nose and leaving a metallic tang on your tongue, the harsh
fluorescent lighting, the deafening engine noise, and the sickening lurch of
turbulence.
But it has its redeeming qualities. Let me elaborate. Professor Thurtle
talked to my Intro to Cultural Studies class about the Spectacle, and how
it's now all about the packaging, and there's very little left in our
society that's truly Real, that's truly an Experience -- something you
simply have no words, no packaging, to describe. I have one, though.
Flying is a commercial endeavour. You have to purchase the ticket, pay a
billion dollars in fees, and trundle your way off to the airport, to sit in
wide open spaces and wait for a machine to be ready for you. In the
meantime, you are bombarded by ads, muzak, etc. But there's this one
moment. The plane taxis down the runway. It's next in line to take off.
Then engines rev, and you're going at warp speed. The front wheels leave
the ground. The rear wheels jump, touch down again, then clear the tarmac
-- and holy shit, you're
flying. You've just said fuck you to
gravity. There's this awe, this wonderment, at the fact you just broke a
natural law. I can't describe to anyone what I feel in that moment, and
that tells me that that moment is Real.
That's why I love takeoffs the best.
Posted by Ally at March 5, 2004 12:00 AM