R-ice weddings in May

This morning as I drove to work, I saw white chrysalids sliding towards earth, exploding on the ground.

Saskatchewan is special this way. We don't have a flurry of flower petals that fall from the heavens in springtime. We have ice pellets that explode on our windshields as they fall from the elms.

I thought about taking a rowing course in May, but I would have ended up taking out a boat called Louis "ice-breaker" Riel, slapping the ice with a paddle like a beaver's tail while wobbling in my sliver of a boat.

My friend's baby niece said "snow" for the first time this week.

I think farmers were probably saying a few choice words before "snow" which the baby will probably learn soon.

If only airline policies extended to other inconveniences

Canada's airlines have downed the ante.

They've come up with their own bill of passenger rights to counter the one proposed by an MP. This is the equivalent of making up my own punishment as a kid when I did something bad, hoping that my somber tone and profligate use of sighs and adjectives would trick my mother into thinking that I really thought my self-imposed punishment was harsh.

But the airlines have some right to complain. The private members' bill could impose fines of $500 an hour on airlines who delay flights, and require them to provide food after 2 hours and shelter for overnight delays.

This sounds great, until you realize that most delays are caused by mechanical problems, not the whims of extravagant heiress' who send their chihuahuas on private flights to Cancun.

"Mais non! I will nat allow zat flight to Winnipeg! Gingerbread cakes wants to visit Iqualuit. Where is my silk moomoo?"

Once this legislation is passed, airlines will basically have incentives to
a) fly despite mechanical errors and/or rush the job
b) crash, thereby killing all the passengers they could owe thousands upon thousands of dollars to, depending on the size of the flight.
c) shaft all small flights, since the incentive would be to avoid paying gigantic fines.

Frankly, I have had more than my fair share of airline fuck-ups. But I've discovered one Canadian airline's secret - something they don't publicize, but honour without fail.

When I ask, the flight attendant gives me a noble nod. It's a code word not many people know. A word that inspires both joy and fear in the hearts of flight attendants around the globe. A word that I wield like a sword every time the airline asks me to sit on the tarmac for 3 hours, after delaying the flight 5 hours before that.

The word is gin.

They will provide it free of charge.

Not many people know the airline's current "Code of Ethics" but this is one chapter verse that I know: thou shalt provide pitiful passengers with free booze in the hopes they shall lay dormant for the rest of the flight.

And it works. On me at least. Half that little bottle of Beefeater and I am drooling on a stranger's shoulder, mumbling the words to La Cucaracha.

Imagine, on the other hand, if this were the policy with other inconveniences.

Bus late? Have a transfer and a Caesar.
Your library book recalled? Take a gin and aspirin.
Children screaming while you wait somewhere in line? Have this pitcher of wine.

Of course, you might really start to like inconveniences, but when they're inevitable, why not enjoy them?

That's what they said at Christmas.

How I got here

I've been in a coma from reality. I barely made my plane yesterday after spending all afternoon lounging on a hill next to Parliament, flashing the nation's capital every time I forgot to adjust my skirt. It was a favour. Parliament hasn't had much action since December.

Jack and Jill (that's me) sat under the statue of Champlain, trying to avoid slipping lest we roll down the steep grassy hill and reach the bottom prickling with used syringes with cigarette butts in our hair. Quebec was looking as dour as a Charles Dickens novel, no doubt to piss off Canada. The 80-foot smoke stack was quite obviously giving the Library of Parliament the finger, while the other buildings were doing their best to be rusty, windowless, and grey.

I probably flashed them too at some point. They deserve something in the passive-aggressive defiance category.

I felt I could be generous, since things seemed to be working out in my favour. Sometimes the world decides to knight you, and doesn't slip and fall and accidentally behead you.

My cabbie was a jester knight sent to my aid, though I contend he wasn't a real cabbie. He was there to offset the bad karma brought to me by my prof who's given me another extension on an assignment originally due in March. The 14th extension now? It's what journalism school would be like in hell - the same, but with never-ending extensions that prevent you from handing stuff in.

So God sent the cabbie into Shawarma King, and there he met a young woman and man, and even though he had not eaten in days, his sense of goodwill overcame him and he invited them into his wagon.

As the young man got out, the cabbie used his spiritual powers to roll down the window so they could say goodbye.

"Do not be sad, behold the galloping horse on the pay-o-meter how it speeds and slows with the rolling of the car."

The girl was overcome with laughter and tears simultaneously.

End of psalm 1

Begin Modern English version

When we got to the airport he bitch parked in the wheelchair zone, grabbed a cart and hucked my half dozen bags onto a cart. He raced inside, leaving the cab trunk wide open, me chasing after him. Inside was an enormous line-up, at least an hour wait. Just follow me, he said, and I followed him into the empty Executive Class queue. He was going to make up for more bad Karma than I thought.

"Have you done this before?" I asked.

"Executive class deserves executive service," he said, winking. The galloping horse wasn't the only thing running on diesel.

We were ushered to the next attendant, and before the lady could ask for my name, he was already throwing my bags onto the belt and waving his palm at the woman, saying, "it's ok, now, it's ok."

Then he bowed out, leaving me to deal with the no-bullshit attendant whose lecture I accepted with puppy eyes.

The passenger at the attendant next to mine overheard my situation - and where I was headed, and helped me pull old tags off my bags.

"Not you, ma'am!" my airline rep snapped, but the woman tore away.

Who were these people?

The woman caught me by the arm as I pulled away and asked if I'd take a piece of carry-on for her.
"What is it?" I asked, as though her answer were the deciding factor.
"Roller-blades."
I did a little head bobble at my existing carry-on load and apologized.
"Why don't you wear them?"

So I'm back on the prairies, and have already written a story about canola. Just ask how many excess tons of canola SK produces each year, and prepare to be shocked and amazed. More trivia coming your way, as I catch up on the past week's absent blog posts.