Always sorry

You’re always sorry, you’re always grateful

After the relative ease and delay-free nature of my journeys so far, I guess I was due some travel problems and duly got them in bucket loads on my trip from Chicago to Toronto.  It should have been straightforward – a 6pm flight that should have taken 90 minutes, getting me in at 8:30pm Toronto time. From there it would simply be a short taxi ride to the centre and to David’s apartment. Things started off ok, I arrived at the airport in plenty of time and went to check in. I had booked my flight using the BA miles I had racked up over years of travelling for both work and pleasure. American Airlines charges $25 to check in a bag but the check-in machine asked if I wanted to upgrade to business for $45, which then gave me free checked baggage and free drinks on board. I figured at $7 a drink I could get through $20 of gin on the flight even though it was only 90 minutes long.

Sat waiting for the plane the departure time kept creeping slowly upwards. I counted at least half a dozen revised times. I texted David on the number he had given me to give him an update of my new arrival time, which was rapidly descending from a respectable mid evening time to late night. I knew David had a very busy work week and the last thing he would want was to have to be waiting up to let me in once I finally arrived.  We finally started boarding the plane around 9:30pm, catapulting AA to the top of my delays list, a new tab I had added to my spreadsheet while I was waiting for the flight. I gave David a quick call to let him know that we were boarding, give him an updated arrival time and apologise. He didn’t answer the phone and it went though to voicemail so I left a message. For good measure I dropped him a message on Facebook too.

I settled into my seat and was offered a drink while everyone else boarded. I asked for a large gin and tonic, which the steward was only too happy to get me. He asked if I had been on one of his flights last week, which I hadn’t. During the short flight I got through another 2 gin and tonics (gins and tonic? Gins and tonics?) and came out $1 up. We landed at around 11:30pm Toronto time. I was first off the plane, switching my phone on & calling David to let him know that I had arrived. Again there was no answer and it went to voicemail. I started to worry slightly that he hadn’t answered either call.

I headed to immigration and got asked a few questions by the man at the booth. He wrote some sort of number code on my landing card and sent me on my way. As I headed out another guard was collecting the landing cards. He asked for mine & I handed it to him. He looked at the code on it, gave it back to me and pointed to a large room at the side. Everyone else handed in their cards and sailed straight through to the baggage reclaim area. I went in the room and waited for an immigration officer to be free. There were two on duty, both involved in long conversations with other travellers. I could feel my heart rate pick up as I stood waiting to talk to an immigration officer, conscious of the 3 gins I had consumed on the plane. I can only assume that they didn’t like the fact that I am coming from the US to Canada but have a UK passport. The man asked me where I had come from and I started to explain my year of travels. I stopped short of explaining the full 80 Gays concept as he didn’t look like he would be very interested in that. He asked a few more questions which I answered and then he let me go. I grabbed my case & headed out of the baggage reclaim area. I now only had to find a cash machine and then get a taxi. The first two cash machines I came across were both out of service, not a great start. I considered getting in a taxi and asking him to stop at a cash machine on the way but think that might not go down so well. I spotted a member of staff from the airport and asked if there is another cash machine anywhere. They directed me to one, which was thankfully working. I got some cash and made my way to the taxi point, aware that it was now gone midnight.

There was a very long queue for the taxis but luckily David has told me that the limo service from the airport is only $5 more than the taxi (there is a flat fee in place) and a much nicer ride. I bypassed the queue and grabbed a limo. It is not like a limo back in London that you see driving through central London, normally with some drunken Essex girls hanging out of the roof and windows on a hen night. It is just a large car. The drive into the centre of town was mercifully quick. I phoned David again to let him know I am in a car on my way. I got the answerphone again.  The driver dropped me off at the address David had given me, which turns out to be a very large residential tower. I pressed the entry buzzer, spoke to the porter and got buzzed in, letting myself in to the lobby, realising that David has not given me his apartment number. I tried his phone again, but it went through to voicemail once again. I waited around, deciding what the best thing to do would be as it was approaching 1am. I buzzed the porter again who told me to come up to the lobby on the 9th floor.

I made my way up & to the reception desk. I explained the situation to the porter and his colleague. They looked at me rather sceptically. I offered to show them the exchange of messages I have had with David on Facebook. They asked what phone number I have for him. I tell them. They tell me they have the same one but it is his work number. That explains why he hasn’t been answering his phone at gone midnight then. One of them asks me how well I know him and would he get annoyed with being knocked up at nearly 1am. I say that he would be fine & they take me to his apartment. I knocked on the door. Nothing. We waited for a while. The porter suggested I knock again, a bit louder. I did and am relieved to hear movement from inside. A bleary eyed, pyjama clad David answered the door. I am grateful I don’t have to spend the night sat in reception waiting. I apologised several times, David gave me a hug to welcome me, told me to be quiet as a colleague of his is asleep in the spare room and pointed me towards the sofa, on which is a pillow, a sheet and a blanket. I slept well after such an epic journey.

“You’re always sorry, you’re always grateful” 
Lyrics from Sorry-Grateful from the musical Company