The weekend I arrived in Chicago to be at my nephew's wedding, there was no one left in the Air Canada baggage area 30 minutes after the flight had arrived, which was actually 60 minutes after the scheduled arrival and my sister, Maria, who was supposed to pick me up was no where to be found. So I went to the Air Canada desk upstairs to ask for her to be paged and asked about a possible free shuttle to the hotel. The disninterested Air Canada agent agreed to page Maria and advised me I could check about shuttles at the Bus and Shuttle Terminal across from the entrance to the Airport Hilton Hotel, which was downstairs, through some tunnels, etc. I then asked about US currency. The ONLY currency desk at O'Hare is in Terminal 5 BEHIND security. Air Canada flights arrive in Terminal 3. Since that was a great distance from Terminal 3, I elected not to go that route.
I went back to the Air Canada baggage area and assumed Maria was paged since I couldn't tell with all the other background noise. All announcements I heard were garbled and unintelligible. After about 15 minutes more I decided that something must have happened and I should try to call Maria. So how can you call from a pay phone in a US airport without US currency? Well to avoid exorbitant credit card charges, you need to get some US currency. So I went to the only ATM in the baggage area, one of those generic machines that charge you exorbitant service fees. I hate these machines. This one used a card reader that apparently is quite common now in USA ATM machines. You insert, then remove your card and then do your transaction. I guess too many people were losing or forgetting their cards in the ATM's. Anyway despite repeated tries this machine could not read my card and I gave up. I decided to head over to the Bus and Shuttle Terminal to see if I could get a free shuttle, eliminating the need for US cash.
At the Terminal, there was another ATM. This one read my card and I was able to process a request for cash withdrawal, but the system never asked me what account to draw the funds from. It simply went ahead and came back with an "insufficient funds" message. I keep very little cash in my chequing account and most in my savings account, so if it defaulted to the first account then that is the only message that would come back. Did I mention I hate these generic ATM's?
So I approached the agent at the counter who was selling tickets and directing passengers to the various buses and shuttles. When I got my turn I explained my situation and asked about a free shuttle to the Hampton Inn in Deer Park. He said there was none, but then I showed home the invite which included the message about a free shuttle service, so he offered to call the hotel for me to check it out. It turns out they have a shuttle bus only to bring guests to stores, restaurants and weddings, etc. within a 5 mile radius of the hotel. The airport is about 23 miles from this hotel He then suggested I check out American Taxi who offered fixed rates and a discounted taxi service that he said would cost me 50% of what a metered taxi would cost to Deer Park.
As I walked over to where the phones were, I thought that maybe I could get him to call Maria to find out where she was, so I turned back. Again he was very accommodating and not only called her, but handed the phone to me when it was ringing. The first of Maria's numbers was disconnected and the 2nd rang through to a fax line. I searched for my nephew Ben's phone number, but didn't have it either. I tried signing up on the Airport's free Wi-Fi service so I could send an e-mail or text message. Apparently in the USA free Wi-Fi service means you can get the initial web page for free - every other use requires a paid subscription, unlike Canadian airports like Ottawa and Toronto where FREE Wi-Fi services is totally FREE! So I concluded I couldn't call, email or text Maria - I'd just have to hire the taxi. I mean how expensive could it be?
So I called American Taxi and asked for a quote. Their computer was down, so the dispatcher suggested he could send the driver who had a fare book in the taxi and he could tell me the cost. (So the dispatchers don't have copies of this fare book?) When he finally did arrive, he pulled out his book and told me he couldn't read the fares, so he asked me to tell him what it said. (Omigod! They sent me a BLIND taxi driver??!!) I originally read the wrong line and said $50, but then corrected myself with the correct $68 fare. What could I do? I guess if I'd thought about it, a rental car might have been cheaper, but driving on unfamiliar Chicago freeways would be harrowing and nerve-racking.
So after stowing my bag in the trunk I climbed into the back seat and we set off for the hotel. The driver appeared to see where he was going, so I assume he was maybe just far-sighted. But to ask if I would recommend the driver or the company, I would emphatically say NO! He constantly talked on the cell phone as well as texting and making call after call speaking in a foreign language, writing notes in a workbook and looking up numbers in the same workbook, all the while driving at the 55 MPH speed limit on the freeways leading to the hotel. At one point he even had TWO cell phones going when a call came in on a second phone. His ring tone, which someone obviously thought was funny for a cab driver, was first a loud whistle sound and then the shout "Hey Taxi!". It sounded like someone was trying to hail a cab as we were speeding down the freeway. After hearing this about 5 times, he finally picked up the call after putting the first caller on his other phone on hold.
We finally made it to the hotel in one piece. He then confirmed the total fare would be $68 + $6 airport tax, and how much was that? So now I had a taxi driver who couldn't add??!! I advised him that was $74 and handed him my credit card. He laid the card on a flat binder, then positioned a paper Credit Card draft on top of the card and then began applying pressure from the side of a pen moving it back and forth over the draft as if he were doing a rubbing at some ancient archaeological site to get an image of the raised characters on the credit card voucher. When that was done, he speed-dialed the credit card company on his cell phone and then entered the information, including my credit card number and expiry date on the cell phone keypad. Well something didn't work and he asked for my card back again. Having misgivings about the whole process, I suggested we go into the hotel to see if we could make an arrangement to have the hotel pay my cab and add it to my bill.
Well I should have known better. The hotel couldn't or wouldn't advance to funds to pay the cab. Nor could they change my Canadian money to US currency, give me an advance on my credit card or debit card or do anything else for that matter. But they did have a generic ATM machine in the Business Centre that I could withdraw cash from. Oh yeah, I've heard that before.
This ATM was a little more promising. It actually asked me what account I wanted to draw the money from. But having been twice bitten by these cheap knockoffs at the airport, I decided to play it safe and ask for the balance in my savings account before actually asking for the money. The machine worked flawlessly confirming I had enough money in that account to buy out the hotel for one night, even though it took almost 5 minutes to confirm the information. Okay, so now I proceeded to complete the withdrawal request. After 5 minutes of waiting again, the ATM came back with COMMUNICATION ERROR, and no money.
In frustration I went back to the front desk and the waiting cab driver and explained what had happened, and again implored the clerk to help. He brought out the Hotel Manager who finally decided to advance me a $100 bill, which was all the cash they had in the till at that time, to give to the driver. Would you be surprised to learn the cab driver only had a $20 bill change? Since I had made him wait and his boss was now calling his cell phone to ask where he was, I relented and accepted the $20 change and let him go. That's how the $68 cab fare ended up costing $80.
But this is not quite the end of the story. The hotel manager insisted I immediately go to the Chase bank to get cash to reimburse them. They would even use the hotel's shuttle and wait for me to bring back the cash, as if I needed an armed escort for such a large sum of money. It's nice to know there is such a high level of trust between the valuable hotel guest and the hotel management. After the shuttle driver managed to get the barely functioning, recently- repaired van in gear, we were off and a few minutes later I was explaining my story to the clerk at the information desk of the Chase bank. She wasn't sure what to suggest but then mentioned I could always try their ATM. I hadn't seen it coming in since it was in a separate part of the building with its own entrance around the side. A young clerk who had overheard offered to take me there, and we had a pleasant conversation about his 3-year old son as I attempted to navigate past the initial screens which offered me 14 languages before I started, then numerous options where I mis-selected a few before I finally got it right. In 3 seconds my money was delivered and 30 seconds later I was shaking the young man's hand and climbing back into the temperamental shuttle van heading back to the hotel. I handed the $80 back to the obviously relieved clerk (he had kept the original $20 change the cab driver had given me as collateral) and then headed up to my room for the first time. The clerk also advised me that Maria had called and she would be there shortly.
When I got to the room, there was a message from Ben wondering where I was AND included in the message were his and Maria's new phone numbers.
By comparison, the rest of the day was quiet except for the laughter from people to whom I told my story to. I managed to do some shopping with Maria and Tricia and her two kids Hope and Buzz. At the Apple store I bought Bluetooth stereo headphones which will allow me to connect to my iPhone and iPad without any wires (very cool!) and then we went to Target to replace the shaving cream and moisturizer I had been forced to donate to the security staff at the Pearson International Airport.
This was my first visit to Target. Until this year, there were no Target stores in Canada, but they are coming to Canada in a big way. Target has bought 189 locations of the defunct Canadian Zellers store chain (owned by TheBay) and are making a big push north. After seeing the prices, I would say Canadian retailers are in for a big shock, and Canadians are in for some big savings. I bought a pair of men's leather dress shows for $29.99 which would easily have cosy $70 to $80 in a Canadian shoe store.
Last night was the rehearsal dinner held at a local Italian Restaurant where I got to see Ben and Christine (the Weds to be) and the rest of Maria's family including her other sons Tim and Geoy. And it was great to connect again with Tricia's husband, Tim - we had some great dinner conversation. George, Maria's ex-husband was also there with his daughter Penny. Except for George, they have all changed so much I would never have recognized them. It was a great meal but having not slept more than two hours since Wednesday night, I agreed to let Tricia drop me off at the hotel on their way home and crashed about 9:30pm.
THIS will be a trip I remember for a long time to come!
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Chicago trip, part 1 (or How it takes 11 hours by bus, plane & taxi)
Travel has changed. For those who do it constantly, you already know this but for others who have not ventured south of the border recently, like me, the changes are startling.
In my case, I was going from Ottawa to Chicago. After considerable research, I decided to fly Air Canada from Toronto to Chicago after taking a bus from Ottawa to Toronto. The combined return air and bus fares were over $100 less than flying directly from Ottawa with Air Canada or any other airline. To make my connection in Toronto, I had to catch the earliest bus out of Ottawa at 1am. Surprisingly there are a lot of people who think traveling to Toronto on the 1am bus is convenient and the crowd swelled to 2 bus capacity before we left.
Two hours later I was awakened from sleep for our first and only pit stop at a Tim Horton's somewhere in rural Ontario. After buying a coffee and bagel with cream cheese and after a bus driver change (our bus driver switched to a bus going back to Ottawa) we were on our way again. This time I stayed awake and watched the familiar route on highways that were way past their "best before date". Eventually the familiar Toronto cityscape began to appear and we made the first city stop at Scarborough Town Centre next to the Transit station at about 5:15am. After dropping a few passengers off, we were on our way again and arrived at the downtown Bus Terminal at about 5:40am. The bus terminal is a few blocks from the closest subway station on Dundas Street West and I walked over to catch the subway to connect to the bus that would take me to the Airport.
I actually ended up on the subway platform before the first subway train had arrived and was able to examine what had changed since the last time I had been there 10 years before. For one thing the information/ advertising displays are now full color LED/LCD TV's that show how many minutes before the next train arrives. Remembering the frustration of a previous life waiting on past platforms wondering when the next train would come, I felt this was a definite improvement and allowed the rider to make alternate choices if the wait were too long. When one doesn't know, one tends to keep waiting hoping upon hope it won't be too long. One more than one occasion in the past when I had given up hope and decided walking would be faster, I would then hear the long-awaited train arrive as I was too far up the escalator to run back in time to catch it. At least now a countdown clock would give you better information to make the decision.
The next surprise was the subway train itself. I could tell from its approach that it was a new train, but the upgrade embellishments inside were phenomenal. The transit map, for example, now had little green and red lights. The green lights lit the stations already passed whereas the red lights were for stations ahead of the train. The station immediately ahead flashed in green until arrival. Other displays in the car showed the next station while a female voice announced the same information several times. As the train entered the station, the display would advise what side to exit the train. Toronto has a confusing and inconsistent design of platforms that are either separated on either side of the station, or joined together in one central platform, which means you never know (until now) what side of the train you'll be getting out on. Even those familiar with the system have been occasionally embarrassed by lining up at the wrong exit doors only to have the doors on the opposite side of the train open up when the train stops, and they then have to sheepishly turn around and cower out of the train hoping that no one else noticed, which of course everyone did.
But the biggest surprise was the train itself. Those familiar with traditional Toronto subway cars, or have even only seen the New York subway cars with the adjoining cars that allowed changing cars only by going through a risky set of two doors, would have been impressed by this totally connected train, no doors. Like a giant snake, the train is a series of cars that have these flexible, articulated connections that on straight stretches allows you to have an unobstructed view in either direction from the front of the train to the back. No risky moving from car to car with a possible catastrophic fall between the cars unto the train tracks. There was no "between the cars". Just the long, snake-like mechanical animal that allowed you to walk the length of its mechanical belly without pause. I was impressed. For contrast, I ended up on a more traditional train that had none of these enhancements after transferring to the Bloor line.
The bus to the Airport from Kipling was crowded, but because it was before the morning rush hour, it made good time and dropped me at Terminal 1 where my real adventure began.
If you're not familiar with Terminal 1, as I am not, it is a confusing mega-size airport terminal and you have to read a lot of signs to get to where you're going. The bus dumped us on the arrivals level and I eventually found the departures sign pointing upstairs. After going one flight up, I found express terminals for Air Canada and United, so I decided to save time and use one. Now these terminals require not only your booking reference number, but your passport (scanned) and your destination address in the USA. Of course I didn't have them ready when the screens appeared, so I had to dig through my bags. The computer terminal, like an impatient waiting agent, kept asking me "Do you need more time?" as I searhced for the documents. Finally in frustration I just hit cancel and headed up to the third level to join the unwashed masses lining up at the Air Canada counters. After seeing the thousands in the queues here, I reconsidered not using the automated kiosks, went back to the second level with all my documents in-hand, and breezed through the process getting my "boarding pass" in just a few minutes. Since I only had carry-on luggage, I headed back to the 3rd level to look for my gate which the kiosk had shown as F-66.
Once on the third level, the large alphabet numbers lead me through A to G when I saw a sign directing me to Connecting Flights and F, so I followed that sign. When the agent at the door to that area saw my boarding pass, she advised me that I had to enter through another F entrance around the other side and that only passengers connecting from flights could go through there. After walking around the hundreds of passengers lined up at the Air Canada counters and walking for another 500 meters, I finally did find the other F entrance which, incidentally, enters the same hall a few meters away from the original entrance I first tried. They're basically just two different doors into the same room - there's no other difference. The only difference I can see is that it saves walking for connecting passengers, which, I guess, is not a consideration for new passengers.
I had already grabbed the US Immigration card to fill out and planned to do so in the very long, snaking line (the first of many I would stand in). The agent at the door, however, insisted I fill in the card BEFORE joining the line, which I did, then waited until my turn came up with the next available USA Immigration Officer. Having already had my passport scanned and my hotel information entered in the automated kiosk, I now had to enter the same information on the Immigration form. Don't you love unfettered bureaucracy?
I should tell you that my passport expires next year. As a five year old passport with hair that is not as short as mine is now and perhaps it was a little bit thicker in that photograph, I guess I should forgive the agent for examining it closely and then holding it up in the air beside my face and comparing me to the image as he did this double-take several times before either convincing himself I was the same person, or perhaps deciding that if I was a terrorist his grandmother could take me out before I was able to release any weapons of mass destruction.
So released from USA Immigration, I then joined the snaking queue for USA Customs. Eventually I made it to an agent who made the standard questions, confiscated the Immigration card and dispatched me to the next snaking line waiting to be cleared through security. This scene was the most chaotic. People were half-undressing themselves removing shoes, belts and other metal garments so I knew the score by the time I got to the X-ray belt. But I had forgotten about the no liquids and had a can of shaving cream and a bottle of moisturizer that proved to be too dangerous for carry-on luggage. They were confiscated. I wonder if security agents working at airports ever have to shop for these products or if they just bag the confiscated goods and take them home? Or do they own corner stores where they repackage confiscated goods and sell them at discounts? Do you really think that all this discarded stuff ends up in landfill? Perks of the job, I guess.
So I was finally inside the security perimeter! Gate F-66 was almost within reach! Since I had nothing to eat since the Tim's pit stop in the middle of the night, I found a fast food place close to security that was open and who were serving over-priced "breakfast" items. I chose a tasteless bagel with western omelette and cheese, an oat bran muffin and a bottle of water which at $15.00 for everything wasn't completely unaffordable. Unfortunately it WAS completely tasteless. Still it was filling - and I knew there would be no food on the plane.
As I walked to my gate, I noticed that my "boarding pass" did not include a seat assignment. So at gate F-66 I approached the counter only to be intercepted by another waiting passenger who advised me that they were still working on getting out the United Denver flight and the Air Canada agents had not even showed up yet. We watched the drama of the passengers who had not showed up for the flight even though they were in the terminal (lost maybe?) and the one passenger who had somehow boarded without being on the passenger manifest, but they finally sorted all of the out and only left 5 minutes late at about 8:50am. Our flight was due to leave at 9:15am. By this time the crowd around the front waiting to speak to an agent had grown to about a dozen people.
Finally one of the agents made a PA announcement asking certain passengers to come to the desk. My name was not among them. Happy passengers made their way to the desk to claim their free upgrades to Business Class. A few minutes later they began calling names for passengers to get their seat assignments, and this time my name was on the list. So finally I was now ready to board my flight.
We now live in a world of "if you check it, I will charge you". Everyone has carry-on now. The trouble is even though the bags are designated as "carry-on" size, passengers feel that anything crammed into it, even if it bulges, is fair game. The squeezing, pushing, jamming of these bags into overhead carry-ons is enough to cause severe structural damage to the plane! I'm sure these carry-on racks are loaded way beyond their holding capacity when every square inch is crammed full. I'm just waiting for the lawsuits when the whole one side of carry-on collapses killing or injuring passengers seated below. The other effect of all this effort is longer loading times and we left 15 minutes late at 9:30am not only because passengers took more time in stowing their luggage, but also because the flight attendants then had to take lap bags away from people and add it to the scarce empty spaces above, or advise customers to stow them under the seats in front of them.
The flight was delayed taking off and delayed again landing so that we arrived at the Chicago Ohare terminal 1/2 hour behind schedule, and then had further delays as passengers struggled to release their captive bags from overhead. I made my way through the airport to tha baggage claim area, even though I had all my bags, and waited for my sister, Maria, who was picking me up. No Maria. Now I confess that while I planned my itenerary with care, minimalised my packing to the bare essentials I would need for a weekend trip, I did NOT think it was necessary to convert any Canadian to USA currency since Maria would meet me at the airport and I could always get US currency at the hotel. That is when the real adventure began. More in part 2.
In my case, I was going from Ottawa to Chicago. After considerable research, I decided to fly Air Canada from Toronto to Chicago after taking a bus from Ottawa to Toronto. The combined return air and bus fares were over $100 less than flying directly from Ottawa with Air Canada or any other airline. To make my connection in Toronto, I had to catch the earliest bus out of Ottawa at 1am. Surprisingly there are a lot of people who think traveling to Toronto on the 1am bus is convenient and the crowd swelled to 2 bus capacity before we left.
Two hours later I was awakened from sleep for our first and only pit stop at a Tim Horton's somewhere in rural Ontario. After buying a coffee and bagel with cream cheese and after a bus driver change (our bus driver switched to a bus going back to Ottawa) we were on our way again. This time I stayed awake and watched the familiar route on highways that were way past their "best before date". Eventually the familiar Toronto cityscape began to appear and we made the first city stop at Scarborough Town Centre next to the Transit station at about 5:15am. After dropping a few passengers off, we were on our way again and arrived at the downtown Bus Terminal at about 5:40am. The bus terminal is a few blocks from the closest subway station on Dundas Street West and I walked over to catch the subway to connect to the bus that would take me to the Airport.
I actually ended up on the subway platform before the first subway train had arrived and was able to examine what had changed since the last time I had been there 10 years before. For one thing the information/ advertising displays are now full color LED/LCD TV's that show how many minutes before the next train arrives. Remembering the frustration of a previous life waiting on past platforms wondering when the next train would come, I felt this was a definite improvement and allowed the rider to make alternate choices if the wait were too long. When one doesn't know, one tends to keep waiting hoping upon hope it won't be too long. One more than one occasion in the past when I had given up hope and decided walking would be faster, I would then hear the long-awaited train arrive as I was too far up the escalator to run back in time to catch it. At least now a countdown clock would give you better information to make the decision.
The next surprise was the subway train itself. I could tell from its approach that it was a new train, but the upgrade embellishments inside were phenomenal. The transit map, for example, now had little green and red lights. The green lights lit the stations already passed whereas the red lights were for stations ahead of the train. The station immediately ahead flashed in green until arrival. Other displays in the car showed the next station while a female voice announced the same information several times. As the train entered the station, the display would advise what side to exit the train. Toronto has a confusing and inconsistent design of platforms that are either separated on either side of the station, or joined together in one central platform, which means you never know (until now) what side of the train you'll be getting out on. Even those familiar with the system have been occasionally embarrassed by lining up at the wrong exit doors only to have the doors on the opposite side of the train open up when the train stops, and they then have to sheepishly turn around and cower out of the train hoping that no one else noticed, which of course everyone did.
But the biggest surprise was the train itself. Those familiar with traditional Toronto subway cars, or have even only seen the New York subway cars with the adjoining cars that allowed changing cars only by going through a risky set of two doors, would have been impressed by this totally connected train, no doors. Like a giant snake, the train is a series of cars that have these flexible, articulated connections that on straight stretches allows you to have an unobstructed view in either direction from the front of the train to the back. No risky moving from car to car with a possible catastrophic fall between the cars unto the train tracks. There was no "between the cars". Just the long, snake-like mechanical animal that allowed you to walk the length of its mechanical belly without pause. I was impressed. For contrast, I ended up on a more traditional train that had none of these enhancements after transferring to the Bloor line.
The bus to the Airport from Kipling was crowded, but because it was before the morning rush hour, it made good time and dropped me at Terminal 1 where my real adventure began.
If you're not familiar with Terminal 1, as I am not, it is a confusing mega-size airport terminal and you have to read a lot of signs to get to where you're going. The bus dumped us on the arrivals level and I eventually found the departures sign pointing upstairs. After going one flight up, I found express terminals for Air Canada and United, so I decided to save time and use one. Now these terminals require not only your booking reference number, but your passport (scanned) and your destination address in the USA. Of course I didn't have them ready when the screens appeared, so I had to dig through my bags. The computer terminal, like an impatient waiting agent, kept asking me "Do you need more time?" as I searhced for the documents. Finally in frustration I just hit cancel and headed up to the third level to join the unwashed masses lining up at the Air Canada counters. After seeing the thousands in the queues here, I reconsidered not using the automated kiosks, went back to the second level with all my documents in-hand, and breezed through the process getting my "boarding pass" in just a few minutes. Since I only had carry-on luggage, I headed back to the 3rd level to look for my gate which the kiosk had shown as F-66.
Once on the third level, the large alphabet numbers lead me through A to G when I saw a sign directing me to Connecting Flights and F, so I followed that sign. When the agent at the door to that area saw my boarding pass, she advised me that I had to enter through another F entrance around the other side and that only passengers connecting from flights could go through there. After walking around the hundreds of passengers lined up at the Air Canada counters and walking for another 500 meters, I finally did find the other F entrance which, incidentally, enters the same hall a few meters away from the original entrance I first tried. They're basically just two different doors into the same room - there's no other difference. The only difference I can see is that it saves walking for connecting passengers, which, I guess, is not a consideration for new passengers.
I had already grabbed the US Immigration card to fill out and planned to do so in the very long, snaking line (the first of many I would stand in). The agent at the door, however, insisted I fill in the card BEFORE joining the line, which I did, then waited until my turn came up with the next available USA Immigration Officer. Having already had my passport scanned and my hotel information entered in the automated kiosk, I now had to enter the same information on the Immigration form. Don't you love unfettered bureaucracy?
I should tell you that my passport expires next year. As a five year old passport with hair that is not as short as mine is now and perhaps it was a little bit thicker in that photograph, I guess I should forgive the agent for examining it closely and then holding it up in the air beside my face and comparing me to the image as he did this double-take several times before either convincing himself I was the same person, or perhaps deciding that if I was a terrorist his grandmother could take me out before I was able to release any weapons of mass destruction.
So released from USA Immigration, I then joined the snaking queue for USA Customs. Eventually I made it to an agent who made the standard questions, confiscated the Immigration card and dispatched me to the next snaking line waiting to be cleared through security. This scene was the most chaotic. People were half-undressing themselves removing shoes, belts and other metal garments so I knew the score by the time I got to the X-ray belt. But I had forgotten about the no liquids and had a can of shaving cream and a bottle of moisturizer that proved to be too dangerous for carry-on luggage. They were confiscated. I wonder if security agents working at airports ever have to shop for these products or if they just bag the confiscated goods and take them home? Or do they own corner stores where they repackage confiscated goods and sell them at discounts? Do you really think that all this discarded stuff ends up in landfill? Perks of the job, I guess.
So I was finally inside the security perimeter! Gate F-66 was almost within reach! Since I had nothing to eat since the Tim's pit stop in the middle of the night, I found a fast food place close to security that was open and who were serving over-priced "breakfast" items. I chose a tasteless bagel with western omelette and cheese, an oat bran muffin and a bottle of water which at $15.00 for everything wasn't completely unaffordable. Unfortunately it WAS completely tasteless. Still it was filling - and I knew there would be no food on the plane.
As I walked to my gate, I noticed that my "boarding pass" did not include a seat assignment. So at gate F-66 I approached the counter only to be intercepted by another waiting passenger who advised me that they were still working on getting out the United Denver flight and the Air Canada agents had not even showed up yet. We watched the drama of the passengers who had not showed up for the flight even though they were in the terminal (lost maybe?) and the one passenger who had somehow boarded without being on the passenger manifest, but they finally sorted all of the out and only left 5 minutes late at about 8:50am. Our flight was due to leave at 9:15am. By this time the crowd around the front waiting to speak to an agent had grown to about a dozen people.
Finally one of the agents made a PA announcement asking certain passengers to come to the desk. My name was not among them. Happy passengers made their way to the desk to claim their free upgrades to Business Class. A few minutes later they began calling names for passengers to get their seat assignments, and this time my name was on the list. So finally I was now ready to board my flight.
We now live in a world of "if you check it, I will charge you". Everyone has carry-on now. The trouble is even though the bags are designated as "carry-on" size, passengers feel that anything crammed into it, even if it bulges, is fair game. The squeezing, pushing, jamming of these bags into overhead carry-ons is enough to cause severe structural damage to the plane! I'm sure these carry-on racks are loaded way beyond their holding capacity when every square inch is crammed full. I'm just waiting for the lawsuits when the whole one side of carry-on collapses killing or injuring passengers seated below. The other effect of all this effort is longer loading times and we left 15 minutes late at 9:30am not only because passengers took more time in stowing their luggage, but also because the flight attendants then had to take lap bags away from people and add it to the scarce empty spaces above, or advise customers to stow them under the seats in front of them.
The flight was delayed taking off and delayed again landing so that we arrived at the Chicago Ohare terminal 1/2 hour behind schedule, and then had further delays as passengers struggled to release their captive bags from overhead. I made my way through the airport to tha baggage claim area, even though I had all my bags, and waited for my sister, Maria, who was picking me up. No Maria. Now I confess that while I planned my itenerary with care, minimalised my packing to the bare essentials I would need for a weekend trip, I did NOT think it was necessary to convert any Canadian to USA currency since Maria would meet me at the airport and I could always get US currency at the hotel. That is when the real adventure began. More in part 2.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Point Finger Road
The entire community of Point Finger Road had turned out for the 2026
Leaders debate. This was the most exciting thing that had every
happened here. Joyce Beebody called the Leaders to the stage to begin
the evening's debate.
Prime Minister John Pride, the leader of the Conservurass party, confidently strode up the aisle to take his place, symbolically, on the right-most chair, surrounded by a dozen paranoid personal security guards in discount business suits and wearing sun glasses too dark to see their eyes. No one even tried to approach him. His glowing toothy smile hid the legendary fury he could unleash, as he often did on the floor of the House of Commons. During such an outburst his face would fill with red rage and he would spout his often quotable tirades about his opposition, rather than answer questions or address concerns raised. Dressed in his favorite 3-piece custom-tailored navy blue suit with de-rigeur Conservurass blue tie, John was an impressive and intimidating figure whose booming voice would quickly silence lesser mortals like opposition members or aspiring election candidates and would send them scurrying away to lick the toxic wounds caused by his caustic, verbal assaults. John was proud of the fact that in all three of his successful elections he had never had to face the same opponents twice since defeat at his hands had always been politically fatal.
Marie Cheri was the leader of the Fuddle-Duddles, a name the party could not shake off after the historic statement of a former leader more than 50 years ago. Marie was a cheerful and out-going French Canadian whose petite 5 foot 2 inch frame, amply filling her bright silk red dress, turned heads and stopped conversations as she passed the men and women lingering around the egg and salmon salad sandwich tables on her way towards the stage. Mary was a retired middle school principal whose no-nonsense, pragmatic approach had won her the respect and admiration of her community. She had a competent, well-funded organization and she was confident that she could take the wind out of that pompous Conservurass windbag.
The Loyal Opposition party, now referred to as the Demobrats, had shaken off the shackles of being a "new" party and had shown staying power as the Opposition for 15 of the last 20 years, but forming a government had still eluded their grasp. Jackson Cluney, their newly elected leader and former National Chief of the Assembly of First Nations, had demonstrated remarkable connections with Canadians speaking not only fluent English, French, Spanish, Italian and Mandarin but he was also quite capable of carrying a conversation in Cree and Ojibwa. He sported a bushy mustache and dyed his hair with streaks of grey mixed in with his darker black to give the appearance of aging with dignity. The finishing touches included grey streaks around his ears. Tonight Jackson wore a white turtleneck under a bright Demobrats orange V-neck sweater and his trademark dream-catcher necklace. He took his time shaking hands and briefly speaking to each person he met on his way to the stage.
Perry Potts completed the set as the leader of the Greenish party. The party had been forced to change its name when virtually all worldwide vegetation became more brown and black than green due to global warming especially from the toxic fumes produced by the processing of Canada's Tar Muds, which were now being exploited after the Tar Sands had been depleted of oil. Trees and other vegetation were now referred to as "greenish" even if they showed only a few green buds. His bottle-bottom thick eyeglasses and tangled hair, along which a rumpled sports coat with elbow patches gave everyone an impression of a distracted college professor rather than an astute political leader. Perry did not disappoint those in the audience who had these impressions when the books and large files he was carrying went flying in all directions and the audience laughed at his mishap, none more so that the Conservurass supporter who had tripped him. Perry gathered his papers as best he could and then shuffled to his spot at the table on stage.
Joyce briefly introduced each of the candidates finishing with John the "incumbent", a word she used no less than 12 times as she elaborated on his "accomplishments" since being elected for the first time. Accomplishments may have been a bit of an exaggeration. Except for showing up for mandatory votes to keep the minority Conserurass party in power and traveling to exotic foreign countries for 150 to 200 days a year running up travel expenses that easily exceeded Canada's annual spending on public health care, John's biggest accomplishments had been to "correct" spelling and punctuation in bills tabled by others, including opposition members. He had an uncanny ability to change the intended meaning of any bill brought forward by a careful placement of a period, a comma or a semi-colin and had done more to frustrate minority members' ambitions than any debate or committee of the House. Since the House of Commons had gone 100% paperless, John could effortlessly work his magic from any hotel penthouse suite in the world and his impact was felt in every piece of legislation passed.
In one case a private member's bill, intended to increase spending on Federal programs for child care had its meaning completely reversed to decrease spending by insertion of 4 periods, 2 semi-colons and 21 commas. The opposition parties all used word checkers to quickly check if the government changed anything in their bills, but the software programs were oddly configured to not check punctuation and since no WORDS had been changed, they assumed that the bills were being passed intact when their programs indicated the bill presented in the house was a word for word match to the one drafted in committee. The Conservurass party deliberately kept some of their members away for the vote on one pretext or another, including Prime Minister John, to ensure its passage. Now the Conserurass party had one of their most powerful weapons in this election claiming that it was the opposition who had sponsored and passed the bill and the Conserurass members could rightfully proclaim they had opposed it but were defeated.
The Senate, now filled 100% with Conservurass members, who played Solitaire and Angry Birds all day on the Apple iPads the Canadian taxpayers so generously gave them along with their $1.5 Million annual salaries and other perks, had no such excuse but simply rubber stamped their approval of everything they received. In this case it was a process that required interrupting their game play for no more than 69 seconds. Serious senate debate only occurred when ordering the daily catered lunch and decisions had to be made between ordering Beluga or Ossetra caviar with French or Californian wine. Heated debates about lunch entrees like Australian Coral Trout or Yellowfin Tuna could last for days. But ratifying or rubber- stamping a House of Commons bill, 69 seconds.
And it was this Child Care Bill Scandal which led off the debate. Marie attacked the Conservurass party for duplicity and deceit, which John simply shrugged off and pointed out that it was the Demobrats who sponsored the bill and that Marie and the Fuddle Duddles had voted in favor. Marie attempted to explain the nuances of the punctuation added by John before passage, to which John replied "Punctuation, smunctuation - what's that got to do with it? Let's put a period in this question right now and move on." Polite applause and laughter supported John's suggestion.
Then it was Jackson's turn, and he addressed the audience instead of the other candidates speaking about the high regard the Demobrats had for families and childcare and that the Conservurass members had played a dirty trick by amending a bill in a way that would be barely noticeable. He compared the changes to "seeing a dirty homeless man on the street every day, but not really seeing him. To most people passing him he would be just a dirty pile of human flesh and clothes - until one day he dies and the body is taken away. People pass the spot and feel that something is changed but can't quite identify it. Their lives go on and they eventually forget about the old man. The only thing that might have attracted their attention would be seeing the man on fire..."
If anyone had been watching John, they would have seen the red fury face building as Jackson spoke. John could suddenly contain himself no longer, "What the Hell are you talking about? All I know is that you dirty f---king Indians lie drunk in my streets all the time and I wouldn't send my dog across the street to piss on you if you were burning on fire!"
The audience was shocked and dead silence filled the room.
"That," replied Jackson calmly "is the difference between me and you, sir. If you were lying defeated in the street I would send my dog over to piss on you whether or not you were on fire!"
The audience were on their feet laughing, cheering and applauding, and red-faced John spouting a tirade of obscenities and displaying his uncontrollable fury and anger stormed out of the meeting surrounded by his wary security team watching the audience for any sudden moves. The debate was over, but not the results.
Within minutes the live Internet broadcasts were being picked up by major TV and Radio networks, and copies were quickly uploaded repeatedly to iTube, the former YouTube service now owned by Apple since they bought Google in 2021. One version, entitled "Dog pisses on politician", quickly exploded into millions of hits. By 6 o'clock the videos were on all the major news networks worldwide. Overnight polling saw Jackson's numbers surge past the Fuddle Duddles and John's numbers plummet to within 2 points of Jackson's. By election night, it was a foregone conclusion that the Fuddle-Duddle and Greenish parties would be marginal players and that the neck-in-neck battle was between the Conservurass and the Demobrats parties. In the end, John Pride won his riding by 10 votes, but his victory was short-lived. On judicial recounts the Demobrats candidate edged out the Conservurass by 25 votes in John Pride's riding and the leader was defeated. Jackson, on the other hand, was sent to Ottawa by a 90% majority in his own riding, and over 85% of the electorate turned out to vote, the highest in any riding in Canada for that election.
The Conservurass party did still end up with another minority government. During the ensuing year they suffered through several interim leaders until a party convention later the next year finally elected a new leader, followed shortly afterwards by another Federal election. This time Jackson emerged as unqualified majority leader and the new Prime Minister forming the first Demobrats government in Canadian history.
John Pride retired on his $5 million plus government pension and began to work as a "punctuation consultant" for several of the major legal firms and lobby groups in Ottawa. It was rumored that he was now charging $500,000 per carefully placed comma, semi-colon, period or colon and earning 20 times the salary he earned as a Prime Minister - and it was well-known that he paid careful attention to any bills tabled by his nemesis.
Jackson Cluney was given a black Labrador Retriever pup by the townsfolk of Point Finger Road as a thank you for bringing so much attention and excitement to the town, and a plaque memorializing the debate was installed on the wall of the community centre, renamed the Jackson Cluney Debate Hall. Jackson named his dog Pisseur "Because", he explained to anyone who asked, "Just in case."
Ron Finnigan
Rondyn Infoware Copyright © 2012 - all rights reserved.
Prime Minister John Pride, the leader of the Conservurass party, confidently strode up the aisle to take his place, symbolically, on the right-most chair, surrounded by a dozen paranoid personal security guards in discount business suits and wearing sun glasses too dark to see their eyes. No one even tried to approach him. His glowing toothy smile hid the legendary fury he could unleash, as he often did on the floor of the House of Commons. During such an outburst his face would fill with red rage and he would spout his often quotable tirades about his opposition, rather than answer questions or address concerns raised. Dressed in his favorite 3-piece custom-tailored navy blue suit with de-rigeur Conservurass blue tie, John was an impressive and intimidating figure whose booming voice would quickly silence lesser mortals like opposition members or aspiring election candidates and would send them scurrying away to lick the toxic wounds caused by his caustic, verbal assaults. John was proud of the fact that in all three of his successful elections he had never had to face the same opponents twice since defeat at his hands had always been politically fatal.
Marie Cheri was the leader of the Fuddle-Duddles, a name the party could not shake off after the historic statement of a former leader more than 50 years ago. Marie was a cheerful and out-going French Canadian whose petite 5 foot 2 inch frame, amply filling her bright silk red dress, turned heads and stopped conversations as she passed the men and women lingering around the egg and salmon salad sandwich tables on her way towards the stage. Mary was a retired middle school principal whose no-nonsense, pragmatic approach had won her the respect and admiration of her community. She had a competent, well-funded organization and she was confident that she could take the wind out of that pompous Conservurass windbag.
The Loyal Opposition party, now referred to as the Demobrats, had shaken off the shackles of being a "new" party and had shown staying power as the Opposition for 15 of the last 20 years, but forming a government had still eluded their grasp. Jackson Cluney, their newly elected leader and former National Chief of the Assembly of First Nations, had demonstrated remarkable connections with Canadians speaking not only fluent English, French, Spanish, Italian and Mandarin but he was also quite capable of carrying a conversation in Cree and Ojibwa. He sported a bushy mustache and dyed his hair with streaks of grey mixed in with his darker black to give the appearance of aging with dignity. The finishing touches included grey streaks around his ears. Tonight Jackson wore a white turtleneck under a bright Demobrats orange V-neck sweater and his trademark dream-catcher necklace. He took his time shaking hands and briefly speaking to each person he met on his way to the stage.
Perry Potts completed the set as the leader of the Greenish party. The party had been forced to change its name when virtually all worldwide vegetation became more brown and black than green due to global warming especially from the toxic fumes produced by the processing of Canada's Tar Muds, which were now being exploited after the Tar Sands had been depleted of oil. Trees and other vegetation were now referred to as "greenish" even if they showed only a few green buds. His bottle-bottom thick eyeglasses and tangled hair, along which a rumpled sports coat with elbow patches gave everyone an impression of a distracted college professor rather than an astute political leader. Perry did not disappoint those in the audience who had these impressions when the books and large files he was carrying went flying in all directions and the audience laughed at his mishap, none more so that the Conservurass supporter who had tripped him. Perry gathered his papers as best he could and then shuffled to his spot at the table on stage.
Joyce briefly introduced each of the candidates finishing with John the "incumbent", a word she used no less than 12 times as she elaborated on his "accomplishments" since being elected for the first time. Accomplishments may have been a bit of an exaggeration. Except for showing up for mandatory votes to keep the minority Conserurass party in power and traveling to exotic foreign countries for 150 to 200 days a year running up travel expenses that easily exceeded Canada's annual spending on public health care, John's biggest accomplishments had been to "correct" spelling and punctuation in bills tabled by others, including opposition members. He had an uncanny ability to change the intended meaning of any bill brought forward by a careful placement of a period, a comma or a semi-colin and had done more to frustrate minority members' ambitions than any debate or committee of the House. Since the House of Commons had gone 100% paperless, John could effortlessly work his magic from any hotel penthouse suite in the world and his impact was felt in every piece of legislation passed.
In one case a private member's bill, intended to increase spending on Federal programs for child care had its meaning completely reversed to decrease spending by insertion of 4 periods, 2 semi-colons and 21 commas. The opposition parties all used word checkers to quickly check if the government changed anything in their bills, but the software programs were oddly configured to not check punctuation and since no WORDS had been changed, they assumed that the bills were being passed intact when their programs indicated the bill presented in the house was a word for word match to the one drafted in committee. The Conservurass party deliberately kept some of their members away for the vote on one pretext or another, including Prime Minister John, to ensure its passage. Now the Conserurass party had one of their most powerful weapons in this election claiming that it was the opposition who had sponsored and passed the bill and the Conserurass members could rightfully proclaim they had opposed it but were defeated.
The Senate, now filled 100% with Conservurass members, who played Solitaire and Angry Birds all day on the Apple iPads the Canadian taxpayers so generously gave them along with their $1.5 Million annual salaries and other perks, had no such excuse but simply rubber stamped their approval of everything they received. In this case it was a process that required interrupting their game play for no more than 69 seconds. Serious senate debate only occurred when ordering the daily catered lunch and decisions had to be made between ordering Beluga or Ossetra caviar with French or Californian wine. Heated debates about lunch entrees like Australian Coral Trout or Yellowfin Tuna could last for days. But ratifying or rubber- stamping a House of Commons bill, 69 seconds.
And it was this Child Care Bill Scandal which led off the debate. Marie attacked the Conservurass party for duplicity and deceit, which John simply shrugged off and pointed out that it was the Demobrats who sponsored the bill and that Marie and the Fuddle Duddles had voted in favor. Marie attempted to explain the nuances of the punctuation added by John before passage, to which John replied "Punctuation, smunctuation - what's that got to do with it? Let's put a period in this question right now and move on." Polite applause and laughter supported John's suggestion.
Then it was Jackson's turn, and he addressed the audience instead of the other candidates speaking about the high regard the Demobrats had for families and childcare and that the Conservurass members had played a dirty trick by amending a bill in a way that would be barely noticeable. He compared the changes to "seeing a dirty homeless man on the street every day, but not really seeing him. To most people passing him he would be just a dirty pile of human flesh and clothes - until one day he dies and the body is taken away. People pass the spot and feel that something is changed but can't quite identify it. Their lives go on and they eventually forget about the old man. The only thing that might have attracted their attention would be seeing the man on fire..."
If anyone had been watching John, they would have seen the red fury face building as Jackson spoke. John could suddenly contain himself no longer, "What the Hell are you talking about? All I know is that you dirty f---king Indians lie drunk in my streets all the time and I wouldn't send my dog across the street to piss on you if you were burning on fire!"
The audience was shocked and dead silence filled the room.
"That," replied Jackson calmly "is the difference between me and you, sir. If you were lying defeated in the street I would send my dog over to piss on you whether or not you were on fire!"
The audience were on their feet laughing, cheering and applauding, and red-faced John spouting a tirade of obscenities and displaying his uncontrollable fury and anger stormed out of the meeting surrounded by his wary security team watching the audience for any sudden moves. The debate was over, but not the results.
Within minutes the live Internet broadcasts were being picked up by major TV and Radio networks, and copies were quickly uploaded repeatedly to iTube, the former YouTube service now owned by Apple since they bought Google in 2021. One version, entitled "Dog pisses on politician", quickly exploded into millions of hits. By 6 o'clock the videos were on all the major news networks worldwide. Overnight polling saw Jackson's numbers surge past the Fuddle Duddles and John's numbers plummet to within 2 points of Jackson's. By election night, it was a foregone conclusion that the Fuddle-Duddle and Greenish parties would be marginal players and that the neck-in-neck battle was between the Conservurass and the Demobrats parties. In the end, John Pride won his riding by 10 votes, but his victory was short-lived. On judicial recounts the Demobrats candidate edged out the Conservurass by 25 votes in John Pride's riding and the leader was defeated. Jackson, on the other hand, was sent to Ottawa by a 90% majority in his own riding, and over 85% of the electorate turned out to vote, the highest in any riding in Canada for that election.
The Conservurass party did still end up with another minority government. During the ensuing year they suffered through several interim leaders until a party convention later the next year finally elected a new leader, followed shortly afterwards by another Federal election. This time Jackson emerged as unqualified majority leader and the new Prime Minister forming the first Demobrats government in Canadian history.
John Pride retired on his $5 million plus government pension and began to work as a "punctuation consultant" for several of the major legal firms and lobby groups in Ottawa. It was rumored that he was now charging $500,000 per carefully placed comma, semi-colon, period or colon and earning 20 times the salary he earned as a Prime Minister - and it was well-known that he paid careful attention to any bills tabled by his nemesis.
Jackson Cluney was given a black Labrador Retriever pup by the townsfolk of Point Finger Road as a thank you for bringing so much attention and excitement to the town, and a plaque memorializing the debate was installed on the wall of the community centre, renamed the Jackson Cluney Debate Hall. Jackson named his dog Pisseur "Because", he explained to anyone who asked, "Just in case."
Ron Finnigan
Rondyn Infoware Copyright © 2012 - all rights reserved.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Moving to Laval
My Dad had just retired from the Air Force in 1969 and, after moving us around from base to base during that career, he had now decided to settle in the Montreal area where he got a job with Air Canada.We moved to Duvernay, a suburb of Laval just north of Montreal.
We arrived in late September. My older sister, Mary, was entering High School for the first time. Dad brought her to Laval Catholic High to register. Mary, like me, had always been shy and withdrawn. She wasn't what anyone would call a stunning beauty, but she wasn't an ugly duckling either. I loved my sister and the time she spent with me, mostly because neither one of us made many long-term friends with the constant moving.
By the time Mary went to her first class, it had already started. As she entered the classroom, her teacher, Mr. Bonaparte, stopped speaking and all eyes turned to this young woman with glasses dressed in a starched white blouse and navy blue woolen skirt. Mary sheepishly made her way to the only empty desk and slid into the seat.
"Miss?" Mr. Bonaparte's attention was focused solely on Mary.
"Yes?" Mary responded.
"Please stand." Mary complied.
"Do you have a slip?"
Unknown to Mary, being late for class required students to go to the office to obtain a late slip to give to the teacher, who would then record the information in the class's attendance log.
Mary, at first puzzled by the request, looked down at the edge of her skirt, then replied "Yes sir. I'm wearing one" and she lifted the edge of her skirt to expose a small portion of her undergarment. Now for those under the age of 25 who have no idea what a slip is because they have never worn a skirt or dress, a slip is a woman's undergarment worn beneath a dress or skirt to help it hang smoothly. It can also prevent chafing from coarse fabrics such as wool.
The whole class instantly understood Mary's confusion and broke out in a pandemonium of laughter and cheering. Mr. Bonaparte himself could barely conceal his laughter. "Just sit down." he enjoined and tried to continue the class, but the bell rang for end of period.
Mary became known as "slip girl" or "Slip" for short, and the story spread like wildfire throughout the school and teachers' lounge. For the rest of the year people who recognized Mary in the hall would smile or wink at her, and she became one of the most popular girls in school. The ensuing flood of phone calls caused my parents no end of confusion when the young men and women calling would ask to speak to Slip. They were also pleased but concerned about Mary's newfound popularity and busy social life.
My own first day of school was a completely different story. I was, without a doubt, the smallest kid in my grade 6 class. As a matter of fact, I was smaller than most of the grade 4's and grade 5's too. My name, Ron, was also a popular name in the school due to the prominence of the famous actor Ronald Reagan a few years earlier. In fact the most popular student in my class, whose size 11 shoes were clear pre-indicators of his eventual phenomenal growth spurt, was already nick-named Big Ron. Consensus was quickly formed that I could not be called Ron because that would be an insult to Big Ron.
I was introduced at the classroom door to my new teacher, Mrs. Roy, a plump middle-aged matron with impeccably coifed gray hair and granny glasses perched on the end of her nose. She shook my hand briskly in welcome, and after Dad left, she gently pushed me into the classroom announcing, "Grade 6 students, I would like you all to welcome a new student to our class. I know you will make him feel at ease and welcome here. His name is Ronald Finnigan."
The whole class began laughing, both to my and Mrs. Roy's puzzlement. Little Johnny raised his hand. "Yes John?" Mrs. Roy acknowledged. "Finnigan's a dog!" John offered. I realized immediately what he meant. My favorite TV show at the time was Mr. Dressup where one of the characters was a talking dog puppet named Finnigan. Finnigan would not do as a nickname, but for days nicknames like Woof-boy, Bow-wow, Spot and Boner were tried. None seemed to stick.
Then came Halloween. Halloween was Mrs. Roy's favorite class event. In an era where store-bought Halloween decorations were non-existent, Mrs. Roy conscripted her class in creating hand-made decorations with fall and Halloween themes until her classroom reassembled a haunted autumn forest. On Friday, October 31st, we had all been instructed to show up in Halloween costumes and there would be a prize for the very best one.
When I came home to announce the contest, my mother, who had recently acquired a state-of-the-art Singer sewing machine, put on her competitive "my son is going to have the best costume" face and began tearing through her closet for old dresses she could cannibalize into a "dream costume". I just rolled my eyes and went along. I had seen the same look when I started piano lessons. While watching Liberace on our weekly family TV night, I had made the mistake of saying how I would love to be able to play the piano like him. Mom, who was completely infatuated with the man and his bling immediately lit up and before you could say candelabra I was enrolled for weekly piano lessons. At every family event I was trotted out to play unforgettable tunes like "Three Blind Mice" and "Chopsticks". There was no worldly force that could stand in the way of my passionate stay-at-home mom and her "new project".
Every day for the next few weeks I was stripped to my underwear as soon as i got home as Mom measured me, tried pieces of material here and there and then finally dressed me in the final costume. It was a splendid suit of re-purposed wedding dress, cocktail dresses and sequins that would have made Liberace proud. All white from head to foot it sported the trademark wide lapels and flared bell bottoms that were popular at the time. Mom had added sequins and cannibalized costume jewelry, even adding them to my white sneakers. To complete my costume, Mom added fake sideburns and put eyeliner around my eyes, rouge on my cheeks and even a bit of lipstick. I was mortified, but I knew how much work she had put into the costume so I said nothing.
"You look just like Liberace!" she declared after I was fully dressed. "I have to get a picture." A moment later she appeared with her Kodak Brownie camera and began clicking away, while Mary, who had sneaked into the room unseen, began giggling in the corner she had concealed herself. "What's so funny?" my mother asked as she turned around to confront her. Mary didn't answer - instead she just ran out of the room laughing. "Don't pay any attention to her," my mother declared, "she's just being a silly teenager."
To prevent my damaging or soiling the costume on the way to school, Mom drove me in the car. She proudly held the door open and escorted me right to class bringing me right up to Mrs. Roy. It was the first time I saw Mrs Roy's jaw drop, then smile. "That's a wonderful costume, Olivia," she exclaimed, "but don't tell anyone who he is - we have a guessing contest too." My mother proudly smiled and nodded her understanding before she winked at me and left.
There I was, this brightly sequined piñata (oh yes, I knew what was coming) surrounded by witches, goblins, tramps and other less than perfectly dressed students who couldn't quite make out who or what I was. Then the guessing began. Elvis Presley was high on the girls list, but the boys pooh-poohed that suggestion claiming he would never look so "fruity". Since we had been studying French history the week before, Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI were also on the list. Then Andris, the son of a Latvian immigrant who had also just started school that week and was struggling with the English language, came up to me and asked, "Do you Elton? You know, Elton John?" the other students thought this was hilarious. They had no idea who Elton John was, but they all started shouting in unison, "Elton.. Elton.. Elton.."
"No, I'm Liberace!" I declared.
"Elton.. Elton.. Elton.."
"No, Liberace!"
"Elton.. Elton.. Elton.."
Finally I gave up. "Yes, I'm Elton."
"Yay, " the whole crowd cheered as my costume was the last one guessed and we could all now have some of the Halloween cake Mrs Roy had baked herself. "Do you Elton." became the catch phrase of the day and, except for it's length, would probably have been the nickname that stuck. Elton almost became the nickname until Conrad, our resident 4-eyes geek who loved word puzzles pointed out that "Do you Elton" could also be expressed as a vanity license plate as "DO-U-L-TON" and he wrote them on the blackboard. At that point Big Ron, returning from the bathroom, saw the letters on the blackboard and asked, "Who's Doulton?", at which point everyone pointed at me and my nickname was born. That is the name, or the often used contraction Dolt, that I lived with until I graduated from high school, when I adopted Ron as my preferred name.
Actually I was proud of the name. Unlike Stinky, Numb Nuts or Jerk-off, Douton didn't mean anything and was unique. Later on I learned about Royal Doulton, which made it sound even more special. When I finally got my dog, I resisted other people's suggestions to assign a name like Harry or Bob or Paul, and Doulton again came to mind. So Doulton it was.
At the park I find the story of Doulton's name is a great ice-breaker. It's lead to a bit of good-natured teasing, but also to some good friendships with dog owners and dog fanciers alike. Unlike me Doulton is not shy about approaching strangers with a frisbee in his mouth and getting people interested and curious in both him and his owner.
Rondyn Infoware Copyright © 2012 - all rights reserved
We arrived in late September. My older sister, Mary, was entering High School for the first time. Dad brought her to Laval Catholic High to register. Mary, like me, had always been shy and withdrawn. She wasn't what anyone would call a stunning beauty, but she wasn't an ugly duckling either. I loved my sister and the time she spent with me, mostly because neither one of us made many long-term friends with the constant moving.
By the time Mary went to her first class, it had already started. As she entered the classroom, her teacher, Mr. Bonaparte, stopped speaking and all eyes turned to this young woman with glasses dressed in a starched white blouse and navy blue woolen skirt. Mary sheepishly made her way to the only empty desk and slid into the seat.
"Miss?" Mr. Bonaparte's attention was focused solely on Mary.
"Yes?" Mary responded.
"Please stand." Mary complied.
"Do you have a slip?"
Unknown to Mary, being late for class required students to go to the office to obtain a late slip to give to the teacher, who would then record the information in the class's attendance log.
Mary, at first puzzled by the request, looked down at the edge of her skirt, then replied "Yes sir. I'm wearing one" and she lifted the edge of her skirt to expose a small portion of her undergarment. Now for those under the age of 25 who have no idea what a slip is because they have never worn a skirt or dress, a slip is a woman's undergarment worn beneath a dress or skirt to help it hang smoothly. It can also prevent chafing from coarse fabrics such as wool.
The whole class instantly understood Mary's confusion and broke out in a pandemonium of laughter and cheering. Mr. Bonaparte himself could barely conceal his laughter. "Just sit down." he enjoined and tried to continue the class, but the bell rang for end of period.
Mary became known as "slip girl" or "Slip" for short, and the story spread like wildfire throughout the school and teachers' lounge. For the rest of the year people who recognized Mary in the hall would smile or wink at her, and she became one of the most popular girls in school. The ensuing flood of phone calls caused my parents no end of confusion when the young men and women calling would ask to speak to Slip. They were also pleased but concerned about Mary's newfound popularity and busy social life.
My own first day of school was a completely different story. I was, without a doubt, the smallest kid in my grade 6 class. As a matter of fact, I was smaller than most of the grade 4's and grade 5's too. My name, Ron, was also a popular name in the school due to the prominence of the famous actor Ronald Reagan a few years earlier. In fact the most popular student in my class, whose size 11 shoes were clear pre-indicators of his eventual phenomenal growth spurt, was already nick-named Big Ron. Consensus was quickly formed that I could not be called Ron because that would be an insult to Big Ron.
I was introduced at the classroom door to my new teacher, Mrs. Roy, a plump middle-aged matron with impeccably coifed gray hair and granny glasses perched on the end of her nose. She shook my hand briskly in welcome, and after Dad left, she gently pushed me into the classroom announcing, "Grade 6 students, I would like you all to welcome a new student to our class. I know you will make him feel at ease and welcome here. His name is Ronald Finnigan."
The whole class began laughing, both to my and Mrs. Roy's puzzlement. Little Johnny raised his hand. "Yes John?" Mrs. Roy acknowledged. "Finnigan's a dog!" John offered. I realized immediately what he meant. My favorite TV show at the time was Mr. Dressup where one of the characters was a talking dog puppet named Finnigan. Finnigan would not do as a nickname, but for days nicknames like Woof-boy, Bow-wow, Spot and Boner were tried. None seemed to stick.
Then came Halloween. Halloween was Mrs. Roy's favorite class event. In an era where store-bought Halloween decorations were non-existent, Mrs. Roy conscripted her class in creating hand-made decorations with fall and Halloween themes until her classroom reassembled a haunted autumn forest. On Friday, October 31st, we had all been instructed to show up in Halloween costumes and there would be a prize for the very best one.
When I came home to announce the contest, my mother, who had recently acquired a state-of-the-art Singer sewing machine, put on her competitive "my son is going to have the best costume" face and began tearing through her closet for old dresses she could cannibalize into a "dream costume". I just rolled my eyes and went along. I had seen the same look when I started piano lessons. While watching Liberace on our weekly family TV night, I had made the mistake of saying how I would love to be able to play the piano like him. Mom, who was completely infatuated with the man and his bling immediately lit up and before you could say candelabra I was enrolled for weekly piano lessons. At every family event I was trotted out to play unforgettable tunes like "Three Blind Mice" and "Chopsticks". There was no worldly force that could stand in the way of my passionate stay-at-home mom and her "new project".
Every day for the next few weeks I was stripped to my underwear as soon as i got home as Mom measured me, tried pieces of material here and there and then finally dressed me in the final costume. It was a splendid suit of re-purposed wedding dress, cocktail dresses and sequins that would have made Liberace proud. All white from head to foot it sported the trademark wide lapels and flared bell bottoms that were popular at the time. Mom had added sequins and cannibalized costume jewelry, even adding them to my white sneakers. To complete my costume, Mom added fake sideburns and put eyeliner around my eyes, rouge on my cheeks and even a bit of lipstick. I was mortified, but I knew how much work she had put into the costume so I said nothing.
"You look just like Liberace!" she declared after I was fully dressed. "I have to get a picture." A moment later she appeared with her Kodak Brownie camera and began clicking away, while Mary, who had sneaked into the room unseen, began giggling in the corner she had concealed herself. "What's so funny?" my mother asked as she turned around to confront her. Mary didn't answer - instead she just ran out of the room laughing. "Don't pay any attention to her," my mother declared, "she's just being a silly teenager."
To prevent my damaging or soiling the costume on the way to school, Mom drove me in the car. She proudly held the door open and escorted me right to class bringing me right up to Mrs. Roy. It was the first time I saw Mrs Roy's jaw drop, then smile. "That's a wonderful costume, Olivia," she exclaimed, "but don't tell anyone who he is - we have a guessing contest too." My mother proudly smiled and nodded her understanding before she winked at me and left.
There I was, this brightly sequined piñata (oh yes, I knew what was coming) surrounded by witches, goblins, tramps and other less than perfectly dressed students who couldn't quite make out who or what I was. Then the guessing began. Elvis Presley was high on the girls list, but the boys pooh-poohed that suggestion claiming he would never look so "fruity". Since we had been studying French history the week before, Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI were also on the list. Then Andris, the son of a Latvian immigrant who had also just started school that week and was struggling with the English language, came up to me and asked, "Do you Elton? You know, Elton John?" the other students thought this was hilarious. They had no idea who Elton John was, but they all started shouting in unison, "Elton.. Elton.. Elton.."
"No, I'm Liberace!" I declared.
"Elton.. Elton.. Elton.."
"No, Liberace!"
"Elton.. Elton.. Elton.."
Finally I gave up. "Yes, I'm Elton."
"Yay, " the whole crowd cheered as my costume was the last one guessed and we could all now have some of the Halloween cake Mrs Roy had baked herself. "Do you Elton." became the catch phrase of the day and, except for it's length, would probably have been the nickname that stuck. Elton almost became the nickname until Conrad, our resident 4-eyes geek who loved word puzzles pointed out that "Do you Elton" could also be expressed as a vanity license plate as "DO-U-L-TON" and he wrote them on the blackboard. At that point Big Ron, returning from the bathroom, saw the letters on the blackboard and asked, "Who's Doulton?", at which point everyone pointed at me and my nickname was born. That is the name, or the often used contraction Dolt, that I lived with until I graduated from high school, when I adopted Ron as my preferred name.
Actually I was proud of the name. Unlike Stinky, Numb Nuts or Jerk-off, Douton didn't mean anything and was unique. Later on I learned about Royal Doulton, which made it sound even more special. When I finally got my dog, I resisted other people's suggestions to assign a name like Harry or Bob or Paul, and Doulton again came to mind. So Doulton it was.
At the park I find the story of Doulton's name is a great ice-breaker. It's lead to a bit of good-natured teasing, but also to some good friendships with dog owners and dog fanciers alike. Unlike me Doulton is not shy about approaching strangers with a frisbee in his mouth and getting people interested and curious in both him and his owner.
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