What Did You Do Today? What are you doing today?

Grandpa said:

In the airport, about to button up the computer. Off to Taiwan, by way of Vancouver. Long flight. Be well, everyone.

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swiftdog2.0 said:

Heading home on the train.

Springing Brody Dog from doggie prison (kennel).

Paying bills as today was payday, AKA SwiftDog goes broke day.....

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Grandpa said:

Nestled in a town named Hsinchu.

Lovely people here. But every time I say the town's name, I expect to hear, "Gesundheit."

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Grandpa said:

Until this trip, I had not flown Air Canada.

Canada is pretty cool, literally and figuratively. For literally, they've got the north weather, and for figuratively, they have good manners, good healthcare, the Mounties, and a tres chic Prime Minister. So with all that going for it, and with the adequate if humdrum United experience mostly under my belt this year, I looked forward to the joys and charms of an airline produced by such a put-together society.

The first leg of the trip was just kind of weird. It was a smaller plane, a species of Bombadier (not to be mixed up with the Bombadier family of beetle; that's something else entirely, although they both have an exhaust mechanism) with two seats on each side and small carry-on bins overhead. Entering the plane, I stopped even with a flight attendant and looked at the bins with no little doubt.

"Will my bag fit in those?"

"Yes," she assured me.

She was wrong, unless she lives in a universe with a different set of physics. I realized with consternation that I'd have to gate-check my carry-on with most of my needed equipment. As I stood there at my seat, waiting for the herd to thin so I could take my bag up front, and pondering all available dimensions, I realized that the seats were elevated, and there just might be enough room under them for my carry-on.

I tried. Indeed there was. My bag did stray over into the space for the seat next to me, but maybe I would have an understanding rowmate, or none at all. My personal bag with laptop and steno machine went into the overhead bin, completing the topsy-turvy experience.

My rowmate came up, a person whose considerable bulk rendered him or her androgynous. Really, I couldn't bet on the gender. I apologized for my bag taking up more than my fair share. My rowmate had a fairly small backpack. "We'll make it work," was the jovial response in an entirely neutral, genderless tone. The backpack got stuffed by my bag, and all was right with the world.

Well, except for the timing. The plane left a good 40 minutes late. As it flew, it kept losing more time on its Vancouver ETA. My reasonably comfortable time for my connection was rapidly evaporating. The prospects were alarming enough that when I went to use the bathroom in back, I stopped to chat with the flight attendant in the far back seat. She had a book and earbuds. When I said, "Excuse me," she took out the buds and looked up at me, annoyed.

I explained my worries and gave her the boarding time for the next flight. "Yeah, that will be tight. Especially since you have to go through Customs before your connection." Back to the book.

Okay.

I spent the rest of the flight doing computer things and trying to figure out the gender of my seatmate. You look for certain things. The hair was in a black scarf. The body shape, enveloped in a sweatsuit type of attire, was indeterminate. The nails were a little on the long side, but not really long, nicely kept, but not polished.

I'll save you some suspense. I still don't know.

Not that I was looking at the clock, but the plane came to a stop at the gate with 21 minutes left to the listed boarding time of my connection. By the time I was off the plane and on the jetway, trying to navigate around the slow walkers, it was 16 minutes and with untold miles of hallway and Customs to go. Fortunately the two people at the Customs station were efficient, the crowd was small, and the line moved rapidly.

I got out to the main passageway. My boarding pass had no gate number on it, presumably because there was no gate yet assigned when it was printed, and I searched for a couple minutes for a Departures display. I finally spotted a kinda small one 30 yards away and hustled over. My gate was D-65. I looked up at the signs. D-1 through D-50 (these are approximate) was down one hall. D-70 through infinity was down the other hall. There was no sign for the in-betweens, which is obviously where my destination fell.

This felt Kafkaesque. There was an information booth nearby, and I quickly asked an attendant which way gate D-65 was. He pointed down a third hallway directly behind me, which I suppose I should have deduced, or at least that's what his look of scorn told me. I walked briskly down, hoping I'd made it, not even checking the time anymore, and...

The plane was delayed because the crew had just arrived. I had 10 minutes or so before boarding.

Once on the plane, a surprise awaited me, and one that makes you wish there was no surprise. My seat was in the front row of a section. Now, I don't like front rows, mainly because there's no place to stow your personal gear, and I work (or write blog posts) while on the plane. When I had chosen my seat, I didn't remember it being a front row, not at all. It might have looked like an exit row, which is fine, but if it indicated a simple exit row, the schematic was, shall we say, untruthful.

I looked at my seat. One armrest was jammed solid against the curved cabin wall. For whatever reason, the seat itself looked narrower than the others, and I'm too often the widest body in the row. But it gets better. A bend and intrusion of the cabin wall took up a quarter of the legroom space. And that's how it stayed, with a half hour or so delay pulling back from the gate (this seems to be a theme for the trip), completely impersonal flight attendant service, and a 12-hour continual feeling of being a hamster trying to sleep in a matchbox that's not quite large enough.

But wait, there's a punchline. At least Air Canada will get a chuckle from it.

I paid EXTRA for that seat.

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Spideyman said:

Your adventures makes one appreciate the normal mishaps of life so much more. May your stay be easier and calmer.

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Grandpa said:

Oh, Spidey, it's all First World Problems. I'm just trying to make them amusing.

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Starchild said:

Trying to do some drawing and run on the treadmill.

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GNTLGNT said:

...that makes it kinda hard to hold yer handy steady don't it???....

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ghost19 said:

TWSS!

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Neesy said:

At the hairdresser's getting my grey roots turned blonde; last night I worked until 11 and when I got there I found out I was training a new girl.

She turns out to be a good worker but is considering returning to her old job in Housekeeping as it was full time vice .50 at her new position, plus she got every weekend off.

Spoke with my sister in the big city (Toronto) and then made a really good chili in my slow cooker.

I have today and tomorrow off then do a day shift on Friday so will make some sort of square recipe to bring in to share.

Thinking of something easy like Rice Krispie squares but I might just get ambitious and make something fancier.

Have you guys heard of Nanaimo Bars?

Spoiler: large image

View attachment 22287

Wow that's a big picture!

I'm on my iPad- sorry - could a moderator please put it in a spoiler? (I'm still groggy from staying up late last night)

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Grandpa said:

Until this trip, I had not flown Air Canada.

Canada is pretty cool, literally and figuratively. For literally, they've got the north weather, and for figuratively, they have good manners, good healthcare, the Mounties, and a tres chic Prime Minister. So with all that going for it, and with the adequate if humdrum United experience mostly under my belt this year, I looked forward to the joys and charms of an airline produced by such a put-together society.

The first leg of the trip was just kind of weird. It was a smaller plane, a species of Bombadier (not to be mixed up with the Bombadier family of beetle; that's something else entirely, although they both have an exhaust mechanism) with two seats on each side and small carry-on bins overhead. Entering the plane, I stopped even with a flight attendant and looked at the bins with no little doubt.

"Will my bag fit in those?"

"Yes," she assured me.

She was wrong, unless she lives in a universe with a different set of physics. I realized with consternation that I'd have to gate-check my carry-on with most of my needed equipment. As I stood there at my seat, waiting for the herd to thin so I could take my bag up front, and pondering all available dimensions, I realized that the seats were elevated, and there just might be enough room under them for my carry-on.

I tried. Indeed there was. My bag did stray over into the space for the seat next to me, but maybe I would have an understanding rowmate, or none at all. My personal bag with laptop and steno machine went into the overhead bin, completing the topsy-turvy experience.

My rowmate came up, a person whose considerable bulk rendered him or her androgynous. Really, I couldn't bet on the gender. I apologized for my bag taking up more than my fair share. My rowmate had a fairly small backpack. "We'll make it work," was the jovial response in an entirely neutral, genderless tone. The backpack got stuffed by my bag, and all was right with the world.

Well, except for the timing. The plane left a good 40 minutes late. As it flew, it kept losing more time on its Vancouver ETA. My reasonably comfortable time for my connection was rapidly evaporating. The prospects were alarming enough that when I went to use the bathroom in back, I stopped to chat with the flight attendant in the far back seat. She had a book and earbuds. When I said, "Excuse me," she took out the buds and looked up at me, annoyed.

I explained my worries and gave her the boarding time for the next flight. "Yeah, that will be tight. Especially since you have to go through Customs before your connection." Back to the book.

Okay.

I spent the rest of the flight doing computer things and trying to figure out the gender of my seatmate. You look for certain things. The hair was in a black scarf. The body shape, enveloped in a sweatsuit type of attire, was indeterminate. The nails were a little on the long side, but not really long, nicely kept, but not polished.

I'll save you some suspense. I still don't know.

Not that I was looking at the clock, but the plane came to a stop at the gate with 21 minutes left to the listed boarding time of my connection. By the time I was off the plane and on the jetway, trying to navigate around the slow walkers, it was 16 minutes and with untold miles of hallway and Customs to go. Fortunately the two people at the Customs station were efficient, the crowd was small, and the line moved rapidly.

I got out to the main passageway. My boarding pass had no gate number on it, presumably because there was no gate yet assigned when it was printed, and I searched for a couple minutes for a Departures display. I finally spotted a kinda small one 30 yards away and hustled over. My gate was D-65. I looked up at the signs. D-1 through D-50 (these are approximate) was down one hall. D-70 through infinity was down the other hall. There was no sign for the in-betweens, which is obviously where my destination fell.

This felt Kafkaesque. There was an information booth nearby, and I quickly asked an attendant which way gate D-65 was. He pointed down a third hallway directly behind me, which I suppose I should have deduced, or at least that's what his look of scorn told me. I walked briskly down, hoping I'd made it, not even checking the time anymore, and...

The plane was delayed because the crew had just arrived. I had 10 minutes or so before boarding.

Once on the plane, a surprise awaited me, and one that makes you wish there was no surprise. My seat was in the front row of a section. Now, I don't like front rows, mainly because there's no place to stow your personal gear, and I work (or write blog posts) while on the plane. When I had chosen my seat, I didn't remember it being a front row, not at all. It might have looked like an exit row, which is fine, but if it indicated a simple exit row, the schematic was, shall we say, untruthful.

I looked at my seat. One armrest was jammed solid against the curved cabin wall. For whatever reason, the seat itself looked narrower than the others, and I'm too often the widest body in the row. But it gets better. A bend and intrusion of the cabin wall took up a quarter of the legroom space. And that's how it stayed, with a half hour or so delay pulling back from the gate (this seems to be a theme for the trip), completely impersonal flight attendant service, and a 12-hour continual feeling of being a hamster trying to sleep in a matchbox that's not quite large enough.

But wait, there's a punchline. At least Air Canada will get a chuckle from it.

I paid EXTRA for that seat.

Click to expand...