Day 377 "RCMP: Stay off the roads."
It looks like I'll be making that trip into the airport after all.
The winds are still insane up here on the mountain, having blown like a big bad wolf all night, with a lung full of n'oreaster, pointlessly moving the drifts of snow around so that when I woke up this morning and looked out, the white topography of my yard had been altered dramatically, drifts now piled much higher in some places, blown bare in others, with no discernable benefit to all that hard, blustery work from either nature's perspective, or my own. At least the snow has stopped falling, and the lane out appears clear.
There's so much power in those winds, utterly untapped. If we could only find a way to channel that energy for good and constructive purposes! Imagine no longer having to make that dangerous, wintry trip into the airport at all. If we could get these hurricane level winds to do our bidding we could have dressed Sitto up this morning in a special flying squirrel suit, strapped her luggage to her ankle with a bungee cord, the extra give provided for her comfort, helped her out onto the front lawn, pointed her to ottawa, kissed her goodbye, and then had her spread her arms wide, to be instantly whisked off up into the jet stream to start the ten minute trip back to Kanata.
The one potential drawback for such a travel strategy would be that it'd be very dangerous to launch any refreshment carts up there, given the velocities involved, and fragility of the human body, so we'd have to strap some beverages directly to her suit, which would mean that any attempt to drink anything would require the use of one of her steering hands, likely causing her to land, refreshed but hopelessly off course, anywhere from Nunavit to Mexico, depending on the arm used.
I don't mind the drive itself, as it allows me to listen to my lectures, something I haven't had much chance to do lately. I'm just not looking forward to the conditions. We called Porter to see if the airport was closed, if flights were cancelled, etc. and were connected to the most ridiculous employee who's ever answered a phone. He pretended as though he was unaware the province was under an assault of any kind, and assured us that the airport was completely clear, an assertion that doesn't fit with any of the pictures I've seen, or weather stories I've heard, from EVERY OTHER PERSON ON THE PLANET!
His motivations behind what was either a purposeful misrepresentation of reality, or a shocking level of environmental ignorance -to a neurologically questionable level- became clear when we asked him how much it would be to change the flight till tomorrow: $395 he said, like an emotionless robot, which is nearly as much as the roundtrip ticket in the first place.
I wasn't on the phone with the Porter guy myself, or I might have pointed that out. At the very least I would have inquired as to how he managed to avoid the storm raging all around him, and see if he has any rentable real-estate on his fictional little piece of paradise, where the roads are always passable and charging $395 to delay a ticket, on a day that has seen numerous cars slide off the road, stranding people in ditches as they wait for help to arrive, isn't the super dick move it is where I live; in the real world.
Perhaps I'll ask him if I decide the trip is too dangerous and I call back later.
I'm starting to enjoy these conversations, with the employees of this type of big, unhelpful corporation, with their ridiculous, and indefensible little list of policies sitting in front of them, policy's devoid of reason, logic, or compassion, policies they've been commanded to mindlessly stick to, by executives walking around with pockets full of money and an even bigger, internal pocket, full of curdled, cold, blood in their chest, where some amount of scruples should be.
We'll see what happens. If we do go, and we do get stuck on the road, at least my blog is done, and I can use the rest of my phone battery to make the lives of any Porter employee I get a hold of as uncomfortble as it will be for myself and Jeannette's mom, sleeping in the trunk of my Honda Pilot, wrapping ourselves in the muddy front floor mats for warmth, eating stale baby crackers smeared in Ketchup packets for sustenance.