I used to love traveling, but these days it’s a real pain.
PRE-BOARDING
As mentioned in other stories, I’ve been an airline traveler since I was 7 years old. I’ve sat next to large men and beautiful women; screaming kids and those who just smile and giggle. I’ve had passengers behind me who object to my putting my seat back and passengers in front who haven’t taken care before thrusting their seats back. I’ve been in a plane whose engine caught fire and I’ve sat on the tarmac, only feet from the jet way for hours because of a baggage handlers dispute. I’ve been delayed for hours by weather and propelled by high winds into arriving an hour earlier. I’ve had my baggage lost several times and literally had to walk escorted through the employees only baggage storage area only to find my luggage in the wrong area.
In other words I’m a seasoned traveler. I know how to pack my carry-on. I’m a fidget; I like to have my stuff with me. I have sprays and hand cream and tums and earplugs and Kleenex and a video player; just about everything one could need on a flight. I even have my CPAP with me for overnight flights. In other words I need to have “my stuff” close by.
In order to ensure that I have my “stuff” close by means getting on to the plane as soon as possible; getting to my seat and getting settled. To do that I need to be on the plane ahead of the “rank and file” occasional flyers. You know who I mean: those whose seats are in row 99A but insist on walking up the aisle cautiously looking at each and every row number and their ticket as if suffering from short term memory loss. They drag behind them 2 oversized carry-ons which they then find great difficulty placing into the under-sized overhead bin. They refuse to believe that it can’t be done so they block the aisle forcing all behind to stand patiently until one of the crew can explain that 2 into 1 doesn’t go and that they should have been told this when they checked in except that they bought all this stuff at the duty free. Then there are the other morons who push instead of pull their carry-ons up the aisle banging into every seat and causing everyone behind to pile into them like clowns at a circus. And it is like a circus, every trip is the same circus act. I’m fed up with it and I didn’t want to take it anymore.
So I devised a plan. When the agent announces that the flight is ready for pre-boarding, (a phrase I don’t fully understand, how can you board before you board?) for families with small children and those needing a little extra time, I limp up to the counter. Yes, that’s what I do, I limp. I’m not ashamed of it, I do have an occasional problem with sciatic pain and I figure that since I know where I’m going, I know my seat number and I only have one bag, I’m actually doing everyone a favor because I can get in, get seated and leave the aisle clear almost instantly. Not only that but because my bag is over my head no one will be inconvenienced during the flight as I get up and down for my headphones, video player and Tums. I’m a saint, a model traveler, someone to emulate; not scorn for being inventive.
My plan was working for some time until I went on a trip with Angie. The first time I put my plan into action she dutifully accompanied me. But I got an earful during the flight. On the return flight Angie refused to accompany me during pre-boarding, preferring instead to take her place in the circus. Needless to say not only was she one of the last on the plane, but the only place for her carry-on was in another section towards the back of the plane. What a hassle that was when we arrived. Any benefit I had derived from being first on the plane was lost while I waited for Angie to get her carry-on.
I had learned my lesson. So I bought airline club memberships which entitled us to be the first to board. What a plan! All it took was $500 and I have peace. Not only that but we got to use the airline lounges. That proved to be a big bonus as we traveled.
The other part of airline travel that is really exhausting is going through security. I resent the need for it, but I appreciate that it’s necessary these days. What I’m not too happy about is the vagary of the rules. Each airport seems to be slightly different in the way they interpret and use the rules. Shoes on or shoes off. Trouser belt on or trouser belt off. Hands up, hands out and then the pat down. Sometimes I get asked to remove my belt and put up my hands; this causes my pants to start to fall down. In order to prevent my pants from reaching the floor I bow my legs like I’m riding an invisible horse. Coming back from Cabo one time, I got patted down by a female agent and I started giggling. The woman asked what was so funny. I replied, “The same pat-down would have cost me $20 in Cabo in a massage parlor and I got it for free.”.
TRAVELLING FROM CANADA TO THE U.S.
When travelling to the U.S. from Canada we must go through U.S. Customs & Immigration prior to boarding. Depending on the time of day this process can be very time consuming. And you have to drag all your luggage with you. Imagine lining up for a ride at Disney World with all your luggage and kids and you get some idea of the process.
In order to speed-up the airport process, Angie and I got Nexus cards. Now we can by-pass the “rank and file” and go almost straight through immigration. I say “almost” because we are required to register at the Nexus terminal. The terminal scans your retina, asks 3 questions, spits out a card and you’re on your way. The process is quick and simple, sometimes. Usually you end up doing the Nexus Two-step. That’s when the Nexus terminal says move a little closer then move a little further back, move to the left, move to the right, allemande left and dozy-do. It’s just like square dancing.
On one occasion I went through the Nexus part quite easily and turned back to wait for Angie who was in the middle of a dozy-do after doing an allemande left. An immigration agent saw me standing there and asked why I wasn’t moving forward. I explained that my wife was in the middle of the Nexus two-step. He said that I had to move on and wait for her after the agent at the next gate has taken my card. This time when I handed in my card I was told that I had been selected for a random check and to go into the immigration hall. I pointed to my wife who was still “dancing” and was told that she would follow me. In I went. I know enough not to joke with the immigration agents. So I stood there while he asked me if my U.S Immigration form was correct. I said it was. He then pointed, with a “smarter than thou” attitude to the question as to how many people were accompanying me. He asked if the answer on the form was correct, I replied that it was. “Well”, he said, “the form states that there are 2 people travelling, where’s the other person?” He thought he had me. “She is just coming behind me” I said. “Well she’s supposed to be with you”. I tried to explain about the Nexus two-step and the other agent not allowing me to wait for her but then the door opened and in came Angie, exhausted after her dancing lesson.
At this point the agent was determined to catch us at something. He literally took our luggage apart. Making silly unhelpful comments about anything we carried with us. We stood silent, taking the verbal nonsense in our stride. Then he saw Angie’s Energy Bar. The agent’s eyes lit up as he checked and found that it wasn’t declared. It’s a wrapped Energy Bar for G-d’s sake. Doesn’t matter, it was not declared. We were busted. The agent smiled triumphantly. We got our lecture repacked our bags and were on our way.
BRINGING MY MOTHER’S LUGGAGE FROM WEST PALM BEACH
My mother had a major stroke in June 1981 and after much medical and physio was well enough to travel by January 1982. During this time I was busy with Immigration Canada getting her into Canada to live in Toronto. My in-laws had an apartment in Century Village, West Palm Beach, Florida which they usually rented out. They generously allowed us to use it for my mother and a care-giver while we awaited my mother to become a Landed Immigrant. I was assured by the Immigration department that my mother could complete the immigration requirements from WPB. I was also informed that the local Canada Immigration office was in Miami an hour south of WPB.
Of course nothing went right. The care-giver quit, the Canada Immigration office was in Atlanta, not Miami, 5 hours north and my mother was becoming quite anxious.
Eventually, in June 1982, I had to take her back to London leaving all her luggage behind in WPB. In October, during Thanksgiving Weekend, Karen and I flew down to WPB and brought back my mother’s effects. There were 13 boxes and suitcases of full of my mother’s stuff. We had originally expected my mother to go from WPB to Toronto with her new Landed Immigrant status.
Anyway on Thanksgiving Monday we flew back to Toronto, but not directly. Karen was in the travel business and in order to get a cheap ticket we had to take a circuitous route. From WPB to Pittsburgh, from Pittsburg to Detroit and then on to Toronto.
In true airline fashion the seats were over sold. Understandable, long weekend and all that. In Detroit we were asked if we would give up our seat for a $200 per person gift ticket. You bet! We were guaranteed a seat on the next flight in an hour. Of course our luggage would likely be on the flight with us but what of my mother’s 13 boxes? Who knows? The next flight was ready and again an announcement was made. Did anyone want to give up their seat for $500 and a guaranteed seat on the next flight in an hour and a half? Whoa, did we ever? We were on a roll. Two free tickets each. We phoned Karen’s brother, David, who was looking after the kids and told him we were on a roll and not to expect us before Tuesday. We were gonna’ run this streak of luck until it ran out. No tellin’ when this could end.
We waited in anticipation. The flight was announced for boarding. But no one wanted our tickets, our run of luck had ended. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.
We arrived in Toronto, made our way to Customs & Immigration. We knew we were going to spend quite a while sorting out my mother’s effects to the satisfaction of the Customs Officials. It shouldn’t be too bad, it was late and we would probably not have to wait long for the Customs Inspection. We got through Immigration and walked towards the luggage carousel and there in the middle of the hall, piled high, were my mother’s 13 boxes. They were just sitting there. We got our bags and found a porter to help us with the boxes. The porter in turn enlisted 2 more porters to help and the 3 porters, myself and Karen walked towards the Customs exit ready for the inevitable challenge of explaining why my mother wasn’t with us, why we had her effects and so on. From a distance we must have looked like we were on safari with 3 porters and lots of boxes.
We took our turn in the line-up and when the Customs official asked “what’s all this?” I answered. “these are my mother’s effects.”. “Oh”, replied, “I’m sorry, go through”. And that was that. I guess the fact that we had flown back from “heaven’s waiting room” (Florida) caused the Customs guy to think my mother had died. And that was that. Crazy stuff.