Lines, bloody Lines

With apologies to John Cleese and his Meetings bloody Meetings

Everyone agrees that air travel isn’t much fun these days. The lingering effects of COVID, complications arising from Boeing aircraft malfunctions, capped off by continuing security concerns all make travel–especially through large airports–complicated, tiring, and lengthy.

Consider my recent trip through Toronto’s Pearson airport, arguably one of the most frustrating travel portals in the world. I arrived in what I thought was enough time–two hours prior to departure–to an adventure in a veritable sea of humanity.

My first lineup led to the Westjet agent kiosk, a line of some four hundred people—I did try to count—that moved slowly though inexorably towards a friendly agent (and I must say that everyone was indeed, friendly).

Along the way a delightful crowd of Caribbean travelers were partying, providing their own helpful callouts anytime an agent was free: “231, come on people, 231). The only thing missing was a steel drum and Bob Marley’s One Love.

An agent started picking people out of the line depending on departure time and place. He told one woman “sister, you’ve got to get here earlier.” My own call came soon enough: “9:00 Vancouver” and I was whisked away to a different agent, my baggage deposited and away I went. I thought to myself, well that forty-five-minute line must surely be the end of things. NOT.

Airport security is always an adventure, and different at every location. Everything from what must be opened and what must remain closed, what electronics must be placed on the tray—and where is the tray anyway—and of course, must I take my shoes, belt, and suspenders off. I left the shoes on, though eventually surrendered my belt and suspenders to the ever-moving row of trays. Please understand that it’s hard to put suspenders back on, in a hurry, in a hurry and in public the right way up. “Do you need help with your pants sir?” Absolutely not but remember the zipper.

Doing well, only another fifteen minutes. Surely no more lines. Well, NOT. The line for Timmies was populated by thirty very slow-moving caffeine addicts snaked like French curves into the concourse. Of course I couldn’t see the muffins (which may not have been healthier than the Boston Cream donuts (I am trying to lower my blood sugar, somewhat). Food and drink now in hand, I am in position at the gate to board the aircraft with other befuddled pre-boarders (Westjet is most helpful to us folks with special needs) and of course, yet another long line along the passageway.

Finally, on board the aircraft, my seat was in sight. But have you ever noticed that the centre aisle is wider in first class than in steerage. Switch position for wheeling and carrying my carry-on, throw the CPAP machine on the rack, and I am safely ensconced in my seat (with an empty seat in the middle). Phew. Life is good. Note to self—no more air travel.

That is, until the summer when Kathie and I will vacation in Nova Scotia. I am consciously trying to avoid air travel for financial and sustainability reasons. But we do need a break at least annually; the cost, especially to the environment is however, significant and real. For a time the novelist Barbara Kingsolver resolved to travel by air only once annually–not sure if she has been able to keep to that discipline.

Zoom meetings have radically altered the way people and groups meet. The peripatetic life of the business traveler, and airline dependence on that income, will inevitably shift in time.

The English have long proudly accustomed themselves to queuing. I remember sleeping on the sidewalk outside London’s Royal Festival Hall for tickets for the Berlin Philharmonic and to hear the Russian pianist Sviatoslav Richter. Well, I am done with queuing now, and with endless lines. I love life in my little town where a long line is two folks at the coffee bar.

So I ask you, my loyal readers, what will you line up for? Comments welcome.

And hey, it’s great to be home.