Hotel adventure

So, my flight back to Winnipeg Sunday at 3:20 was cancelled.

They were transferring all of Air Canada's passengers to Bearskin, but by the time I got to the airport, all the Bearskin seats were full. We had called like an hour and a half before we actually went to the airport -- we were having lunch at the Hoito with Zia Mary and Jeff -- and they told us that there were no Bearskin seats available. But, it turns out that was because Air Canada reserved all of the leftover seats for passengers from my flight that was cancelled. If we had only said that we were from that flight, I would have got a seat.

But, alas, I did not. And all the flights from Thunder Bay to Winnipeg Monday morning were full as well.

They decided they would put me on a plane and fly me to Toronto, give me a hotel room for the night, and then fly me to Winnipeg Monday morning.

So I went to the airport -- my flight left at 6:40 I think -- but my plane was delayed an hour. So I sat there with my dad and Nina and her friend and we had Tim Horton's. I had hot chocolate with whipped cream. I like the Tim Horton's here though, on campus, because they put chocolate shavings on top of the whipped cream when you get a hot chocolate. This one did not.

So I finally made it onto the plane -- we left at about 7:10 -- and we landed in Toronto at 9:00-9:10, about that. I was supposed to go to Customer Service to get a bunch of vouchers: one for the hotel, two for the shuttle bus there and back, and a meal voucher so I could eat. So I went there, and there were about seven or eight people in line. Six computers at the desk. But only two people working. Awesome. And they were taking like 10-15 minutes per person. We probably moved at a rate of one floor tile every half hour. It was terrible.

So I waited in that line for an hour and a half. Finally, I got my vouchers. The Customer Service counter is still on the "secure" side of security, so at this point I hadn't even gone out to get my suitcase. Over an hour after my plane landed.

So I went out and they have three carousels for baggage, and I didn't even know where to look for my suitcase -- the girl at Customer Service told me it should still be on the conveyer -- so I had to wait in another line up (only about five minutes though) to ask the baggage man where my bag is supposed to be. His response: "Shit, you've been here how long?"

He told me Carousel 1 and I went and found my bag. Then I left and went to find something to eat.

But, no one told me that all of the restaurants are on the secure side of security. And the ones that were on the other side were all closed, because at this point it's 11:00 PM.

Then, after I was frustrated about the food and the waiting in line, etc., I got onto an elevator that was going up when I wanted to go down to get to the shuttle buses. At this point I was just so stressed and, I'm not going to lie, I cried a little bit. Dragging my suitcase along. I was tired and hungry and frustrated and I just wanted to go to sleeeeep.

Considering it's now 11:00 and I was supposed to land in Toronto at twenty after eight.

Anyway so I go outside and I wait 30 minutes for this stupid shuttle. The hotel I stayed at is called Four Points Sheraton, I think. Anyway. So I get onto the shuttle bus, and I'm the only one, and the driver tells me how the man who got out of the shuttle bus when I got on had got onto the wrong shuttle bus so she had to drive him back to the airport so he could catch the right one.

What an idiot. Right? Let's continue...

So I get to the hotel. I go to the front desk. I give the man my last name. He looks it up. "Could it be under another name?" No, I say. Air Canada is paying for it. I have a voucher.

"Oh, is it green?" he asks.

It's blue.

There are two Four Points Sheraton hotels in Toronto. The shuttle buses are exactly the same, but they have different addresses written on the side door. Go figure.

So I hop back onto the shuttle bus and go back to the airport. It's 11:45 now.

I find three more estranged people -- one girl had already gone to the wrong hotel. The other two were about to get onto the wrong shuttle but the driver saw their vouchers and said something to them.

So we wait, and we wait.

About 12:05 AM now, on Monday, the correct shuttle arrives. We cram like a good 12 people into the bus, which is just a van with three bench seats. We go to the hotel.

As hectic as my night was, I liked the hotel room. It was nice. I took some pictures.

This was my bed. Mmmmm, comfy.

I got three hours of sleep. I had to be at the airport at 5:30 AM to catch my 6:30 flight to Winnipeg this morning.

They put me in first class! I've never been in first class before. I was excited when they booked my ticket Sunday afternoon but by this hour I was just so tired and so frustrated...

So I slept. I think I was sleeping before take-off. I slept right through the meal. The stewardess came and asked if I would like my meal though, when I woke up... but it was salmon and I said no.

The chairs were pretty nice. I couldn't figure out where people got those tables though -- I eventually found it: they're hidden in the arm. They just fold right on out. They're neat. I liked them.

Anyway, I was happy to get to Winnipeg. I rushed to Stats to hand in my assignment. My prof still hasn't found my first one, so I have to go "chat" with him on Wednesday. Sigh.

Then I wrote a French test that I did pretty decently on, I think.

Now I'm going for lunch.

Can't sleep

As most of you might probably possibly know, this week is Reading Week for me. I'm home. I'm in Thunder Bay. Until Sunday.

I just finished watching How to Deal with my sister. I'd forgotten I'd seen it before. I saw it with Carly in theatres. I think. It was a kind of decent movie -- better than I remembered, anyway.

Bad pre-teen movies really get me going. I get very emotional, philosophical. So, as a result, I am left lying in bed wide awake. Can't sleep.

Some days I wish I could just turn around and become someone else. Not because I don't like who I am, but because I think that maybe I would feel more passion if I was in someone else's place.

Not that I'm not happy, or in love... I am very much both. But ask me the question, "Who are you?" or "What are you like?" and you probably won't get a very meaningful response.

I tell myself I know who I am and I'm not insecure or confused, but a part of me doesn't believe that. A part of me thinks that maybe I just tell myself that I know who I am and that I'm confident and certain because I wish that I was. Or maybe because I've accepted that I don't know who I am, that I have no passion, no dream, no "This is who I am and this is what I believe in and this is what I want to do for the rest of my life," no "I've known since I was a little girl," or "It's a dream I've always had." No "This is an issue that's really important to me," or "I truly believe in this," or "I volunteer in my spare time," or "work to save the sea lions."

Everyone in the movies has a passion. A gift, a talent, a dream, a goal, a purpose. A passion. I don't really know what mine is. Or if I really even have one. How do you know?

Sometimes I just wish I could be somebody new. Or if I couldn't be someone new, change drastically. Wake up one morning, cut my hair, throw away all my old clothes, buy new ones. Create a style. Something that when people see it they'll just nod and say, "That's so Justine." Something unique. Something me.

Something so that when people think of me or talk of me -- assuming anyone does I suppose -- they'll be prompted to say things like, "Wow, Justine's a really good artist," or "Hey, Justine's a great writer," or "Justine's just a really funny girl, always tellin' those jokes." Something. Anything.

The sad part is, I'm not confused. I don't sit here all day wondering who I am or trying to change myself. Ironically, even right now as I sit here typing about how I want to be different, I don't really want to be. I know this is all in the heat of the pre-teen movie drama moment. I don't want to change. I like me, I tell myself.

Yet I still don't know who I am.

I guess the sad part is, then, not that I'm not confused, but that I don't seem to care. I'm happy confused. It doesn't phase me. Doesn't bother me.

Maybe I say I want to change because I want to want to change. I feel like I should be unsatisfied and should want to be different. Maybe I'm just ashamed that I'm not unsatisfied, so I try to cover it up by pretending like I am and want to be different.

Why am I so worried about what everyone thinks?

It's like when I give someone a present and make sure to say, "I don't think you'll like it," even when I know they're gonna like it. Why do I do that? I make up reasons -- you may have heard them. That's not the point. Why do I play mind games with myself, in my own head?

Maybe I'm really sure of myself and happy with who I am, but tell people I'm not sure of myself because I'm worried that if I tell them I'm happy with myself, they'll just be like "Oh, really?" and then go behind my back: "I don't know why that Justine's so sure about herself. What has she got to be satisfied with?"

Maybe it's like that.

I'm sleepy now.

Night world.

Wiarton Willie: Can he be trusted?

Bonjour, tout le monde.

If you haven't already heard, today is Groundhog Day!

I hadn't heard anything all day about what Willie had to say, so I went on a mission and decided to check it out. I Googled everything I could think of and nothing came up. Then, I had a brilliant idea: CBC.ca. "They will have the news," I thought to myself. And off I went...

Little did I know, I would find something bone-chilling about our rodent pal, Mr. Willie.

Let's start at the beginning.

I found the news on this page. "Paws up for spring, groundhogs predict" is the title.

Here are some excerpts that made me chuckle:

• Four out of four groundhogs polled report that spring will come early this year.

• The people of Wiarton insist Willie has been accurate 90 per cent of the time, but scientific studies show groundhogs are actually poor predictors of the weather. They're accurate only 37 per cent of the time, a worse predictor than flipping a coin.

• In Balzac, RCMP had to direct traffic out of the community hall early Friday.
  
  "That's how many people were here to see Balzac Billy jump out of his burrow and not see his shadow," said CBC traffic reporter Angela Knight.
  
  "They have stuffed him back into the burrow for next year."

Also, the photograph of Wiarton Willie is semi-funny as well. The photo is funny, but the fact that he looks absolutely terrified is not. I feel bad for him. Poor Willie.

Anyway, after the good laugh I had, I noticed something shocking in the "Related" column next to the article:

"Wiarton Willie suspected in double murder"

"WHAT!?"

I click on it and wait for the page to load.

Here is the article, word for word, as reported by CBC News on Tuesday, September 23, 2003: [I took the liberty of bolding my favourite lines.]

An official in small-town Ontario is being accused of covering up a murder, but she says she was protecting the town from bad publicity.

Francesca Dobbyn told Wiarton town council on Monday that she knew Wiarton Willie might have killed his two understudies, but hid the facts so the town's summer tourist season wouldn't be hurt.

Wiarton Willie is an albino groundhog that is brought out every Groundhog Day to predict the coming end of winter. He is also the town's mascot and main tourist attraction.

The Wiarton Willie Festival held every February generates about $750,000 for the town. That makes Willie a powerful rodent.

So last May, when two Willies-in-training stopped coming out of the burrow specially built to house the three, Dobbyn, who looks after the animals, kept quiet.

The missing pair were found last week, deep inside the burrow.

Groundhogs are naturally territorial, and some believe Willie eliminated his rivals.

On Monday, town council wanted an explanation. Mayor Carl Noble, however, rejected calls for Dobbyn's resignation.

Can he be trusted? You decide.

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PLEASE NOTE: I love Wiarton Willie and all animals. Killing animals is not a joke, nor is it funny. What is funny in this situation is the way that they have reported this terrible incident. Two young groundhogs lost their lives in this tale. Please remember that.

A moment of silence...