I had just missed my flight back to Vancouver because a of a debilitating hang over and a sister who refused
to run red lights. After arranging a standby flight I cleared security by breathing on the guy with angry, beeping stick. The Edmonton airport being the vindictive bitch it is was mocking my pain with P.A. announcements, metal detectors and what seemed to be the loudest revolving door on earth.
I was considering filling a bathroom sink with 20, Tim’s Ice Caps and drowning myself when general boarding for my flight was called. Gate 12 was closer then the Tim Horton’s so picked up my luggage and headed to the plane. As I stepped into the cabin I gazed down on row upon row of ridiculously good looking people. It was like I had left Edmonton and been dropped into the middle of an Old Navy commercial. All eyes were on me as made my way to the back of the plane with my track pants and mismatched, carry on luggage. All eyes watching. All eyes judging. One of those things was not like the other and that thing was me.
My seat was was in the very last row, there wasn’t even window. I can only infer that I was being hidden away just in case another plane or perhaps a shallow bird happened close enough to look in. What had I stumbled onto? Proof of two tiered air transit system, a mass migration of models or a universal alignment of near perfection? Across the aisle was another rather average looking fellow who was slowly rocking back and forth with his eyes closed and fingers in his ears. We weren’t supposed to be on that flight that fateful yesterday and I may never know exactly what happened but for an hour and a half I got a chance to peak behind the curtain, and it was beautiful.
I have lied for comic effect in writing this article. I don’t own a pair of track pants.
