Flying With Different Strokes For Different Folks

As we strive to reach our full potential, we hear countless voices urging us to do more and be more. The allure of success in a capitalist society often overshadows any sense of satisfaction. The overpowering greed in this modern world drowns out any sense of accomplishment. The pursuit of financial freedom can leave us feeling empty, like a mere shell of our former selves. Traveling through different places and encountering various faces, we seek inspiration from those who came before us, seeking validation through positive responses or thumbs-up signs. Sitting at Edmonton international airport, watching the hustle and bustle of early morning travelers, all with their own stories and destinations. But outside, a different story unfolds. Rain falls in sheets from the low-hanging clouds, a melancholic counterpoint to the usual pre-flight frenzy. Despite the dampener, the planes keep taking off and landing, tireless steel birds connecting hearts and lives. Inside, the sting of the Oilers’ loss hangs heavy in the air. Hangovers linger, remnants of a night spent drowning sorrows rather than celebrating victories.

The morning air practically begged for caffeine. Every other person clutched a disposable coffee cup like a lifeline. A peek at my overpriced Apple Watch confirmed I still had an hour and a half to kill before boarding. Security had already been…interesting. Based on past experiences, I’d dressed strategically for the inevitable pat-down. This hairy and chunky guard, however, seemed to take an unsettling amount of joy in lingering a little too low with his metal detector wand. Each beep elicited a dramatic look of discovery, like he’d stumbled upon the Holy Grail of under-the-belt contraband. Yeah, dude! I am packing metal balls like a T-800 (The Terminator) and while you are down there, please “say hello to my little friend”

Security cleared; my internal fire alarm screamed for a caffeine fix. Luckily, there’s a Starbucks conveniently located right across from the “I got felt” search station. I thought, oh great, Starbucks must have been expecting me. I walked slowly, nonchalantly, as if I was hoping the coffee shop would come to me, reflecting their top-notch customer service. Starbucks is definitely not my first choice when it comes to coffee shops. Their coffee is so strong, it could probably wake up my ancestors. In fact, that’s how I met my great grandfather. True story. I saw a guy order a Venti sized Coffee and I thought to myself, at that size, Dude’s probably gonna be high-fiving Adam and Eve by the time he lands.

I patronize Starbucks for one thing and one thing only. Caramel Macchiato, oh Mama Mia; “me love you long time”! This is the shit, it’s like Orgasm in a disposable cup. Funny enough it sounds like a great one-night stand. I am certain we can all relate to this.

I located my gate, then found a nice spot to begin blogging. After about 4 minutes of typing, my boss approached me, standing across from me with curiosity in her eyes. “Hey Jason, are you blogging again?” I always struggle with how to respond to that question. It feels like a question I get asked every time I open my personal laptop. “Hey, are you blogging again?” It’s like asking “Hey Jason, are you “blacking” again?” I can’t pretend to be black, but I hope they can tell that I’m blogging just as naturally as I’m “blacking”.

Gotta handle my response with care. I’m not a fan of folks peeking at my raw materials before it’s all polished up, grammar-checked, and formatted. Feels like lending out your new underwear and hoping to get it back unused. Gotta reply cautiously, she’s grinning like she’s got the answer and can’t wait to see it. I feel like Neo in the matrix. If I say NO, she might be let down swallowing the blue pill, but if I say YES, she’ll dive into my blog world and start making suggestions, swallowing the red pill. I’ll end up dancing around her ideas like dodging bullets. Most folks would welcome the ability to dodge bullets like in the “Matrix,” but I’d rather not get shot at all. I met her gaze and said, “Just jotting down some thoughts.” Had to give her a little something, not too disappointing but not overly satisfying either. She quickly moved on to the next colleague. Jackpot!

Scanning the area around YEG-Gate 47B, I try to figure out why everyone is flying today. I briefly make eye contact with a woman, but I quickly look away. A few minutes later, I see her walking towards Gate 47B. She sits down across from me, constantly searching through her carry-on bag. At one point, she gives me a look that seems to say “the blacker the Berry the sweater the juice,” maybe she’s heading to Somalia next. The men there are so black they appear navy blued. She doesn’t seem bothered by my wedding ring. Maybe she’s used to it, maybe married men are her preference. I can’t figure her out, too many maybes. I’m not judging, but her outfit is extremely revealing, as if she’s ready for a party in case the Oilers win the Stanley Cup. Well, they didn’t win, so where is she off to next, Florida?

Across the way, the Canadian Brewhouse was already buzzing with a different kind of breakfast crowd. One particularly enthusiastic gentleman caught my eye. This dude was demolishing a feast fit for a king – pancakes, waffles, a mountain of sausage, eggs, French toast – all piled high on three separate plates. He attacked it with the ferocity of a man on death row with a last meal request. The dude was practically inhaling his food, all while nursing a pint of beer. Killing everything onsite like a commando. Dressed to impress, not exactly “hangry traveler” vibes. My money’s on him catching a flight to a private tropical island with a swim-up bar, not a boardroom meeting.

The man sitting to my right is busy typing on his computer, just like me. Suddenly, my competitive side kicks in and I start wondering if he’s also blogging. Is he trying to outdo me in the blogging game? What could he possibly be blogging about? I feel the urge to out-blog him no matter what. Upon closer inspection, I notice that he’s actually entering data into an inventory excel spreadsheet. I see this as a sign of surrender, waving the white flag, but I’m still prepared to go head-to-head in a battle of bloggers. It’s mano a mano, cock for cock, word for word, and blog for blog.

One of our colleagues was still MIA, stuck in purgatory at security. Apparently, her flight got bumped to later, thanks to the ever-helpful WestJet agent. No explanation, just the cryptic message that she “wasn’t early enough.” Early enough for what? A pre-dawn security striptease? Two hours before departure seems standard, but maybe this airline operates on kangaroo court logic, where “early” is a subjective term best left to the whims of a bored teenager with a power trip. I mean how early are we talking about? Two hours early or early like medieval times?

Boarding time finally rolled around, and I swaggered up to the agent, ready to flash my ID like an FBI agent and boarding pass like a VIP. Smooth move, right? Wrong. Turns out, my ticket was about as valid as a participation trophy. The agent banished me to a corner like a toddler caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Apparently, the WestJet agent who rescheduled our colleague’s flight earlier decided to play whack-a-mole with the entire booking. Thanks, champ!

The rest of the crew was stuck in the same penalty box. After 15 minutes of sorting out the mess, we were at last given permission to board. The air on the plane as we entered crackled with the simmering rage of hungover Oilers fans, convinced we were all a bunch of jabronis who couldn’t manage to wake up on time. Just as the tension reached DEFCON level, a brave soul piped up, “Hey, are you the ones holding up the plane?” The place erupted in laughter. In that moment, the shared misery forged a bond stronger than any pre-game tailgate.

I managed to grab a seat, just not the one assigned on my ticket. Looks like someone beat me to it, but hey, that’s what happens when you’re running late. Let’s hope the same rule doesn’t apply to the journey to the afterlife. Especially for those who believe in heaven and hell. Imagine someone saying, “I’m sorry, you arrived late, your spot in heaven has been filled because you lived a long life on earth.”

As we ascend above the grey clouds, my mind drifted to the people at YEG that morning. Where were they off to? Business, pleasure, or a mix of both? Everyone has a tale to tell, a reason for their journey, a destination in mind. Whether you’re the Flight Agent, the hefty security guard, my boss with those curious baby blue-green eyes, the lady in the tight dress, the breakfast commando guy, or the Inventory man – each of you has a unique story.