If you thought by this time I would be safely tucked into the Plaza Premium lounge waiting for my Iceland flight and drinking fine wine and being all cozy and secure YOU THOUGHT WRONG. Want to know why?
Because I landed in freaking Canada where apparently we can’t open the Icelandair desk service because we are too busy playing hockey and being Justin Bieber and sampling maple leaves or being fake French (don’t even talk to me if you are from Montreal what even is that are u french or canadian like pick a goddamn side) IDK what one but no matter what it’s not acceptable! Because since I landed here from Seattle and had bags from the US and needed to go through customs, I have to completely check back into the flight/security.
Except that wasn’t possible because the Iceland deck is closed until 3……. So here I am pushing my 400 pound Samsonite bags around Edmon-fucking-ton and not having a clue where to go.
Enter: my fairy god mothers. Now if you know me, you know that I do not UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES allow myself to be near old people. Or trust them. Or look at them. It’s just not who I am. It’s can be really risky guys. But this time I took a chance because I met these guardian angels. I was wandering like a lost little puppy and they showed me the way to the bar.
Dorris (Idk her real name because I don’t like to ask personal questions but I really feel like she was a Dorris) told me the sad news about the desk not opening until 3 (it’s 1:30) and Wanda (dunno her name either but I bet your ass her name was Wanda or Winona either one) was kind enough to point out a small bar where I could get myself a little tiny teeny Olympic pool size glass of wine and watch Michael Phelps float around inside it and wait and wallow until the fucking hockey players came to open my desk and stop saying “Eh” long enough to do their job.
So that is where I am. At Jaspers. With some mediocre wine. But it’s alright because the moral of the story is that we can trust old people once again you guys.
Namaste and all that. Xo