I just landed in Chicago, several hours later than scheduled. Such is life.
Check in at YYZ was a breeze, if a lengthy one; getting through US c is tedious when you're alone. I had the good fortune to pull perhaps the only customs agent in the history of the universe with a sense of humour. He asked, in that inevitable monotone, "Purpose of travel?" to which I replied "Business."
"Type of business?"
Crap, I thought. He's a thinker. "Meetings about requirements processes for BMO and Harris Bank." If you have not travelled with me, my next statement will surprise you: I kept talking. In a quiet, deeply sarcastic tone I said, "Very exciting."
He shot me a hard look - which I noticed for just long enough for the sound of a rubber glove to snap in my mind - when he said, "It's your job to make it interesting."
I broke out in a huge grin, said, "I'll do my best", collected my papers, and carried merrily on.
Despite extensive time driving to our runway, we were in the air only 20 minutes late.
The flight was uneventful (best kind) but our approach to O'Hare was a bit wild. Lots of exciting steep turns, throttle changes and altitude adjustments. I began to wonder if CNN would report a pilot wrestling control of his plane from a Gameboy-wielding maniac playing WWI Dogfight Simulator in the toilet while smoking a Cuban.*
Now I'm in the Drake, and about to go downstairs for a quiet drink and to read some IIBA documents.
By the way, the title is not a typo. I find wisdom in my sister's advice: "When you travel, " she says, "remember that you are just another piece of luggage. Keeps you calm."
Wise words, Sisbo. Wise words.
*Cigar, you freak.