The day at the SSA

Like any good law abiding, taxpaying citizen today was the day to head to the Social Security Administration for my “social” the US version of the tax file number.

I head “downtown”, find the building and up I go to the 22^nd floor.  Following a group who had obviously been here before, I wonder if I am in the right building as this place is the most run-down place I have seen in a while.

We find the door, I walk in, take a ticket and sit down.

 Little did I know I had a front row seat to the scariest place in town and the show was about to begin.

As I sit on my own, in a room full of seats – I select an aisle seat close to the security guard, and sneak a look around and try not to stare.  Bare feet, old clothes and people being escorted in by security I start to wonder if I am in the right place. 

A number is called, and I deduct that yes indeed I am in the right place.  Shut up Schilo, sit tight and be quiet.

I make the decision to stare straight ahead because the fruit loops in this place were just too left of centre for me and one look in the wrong direction could have me killed.

A girl to my right starts screaming. “when’s my number going to be called?” the guard tells her he will let her know.

Another number gets called, and the girl screams again “when’s my number going to be called”.  The guard asks her what “number you got” and she screams back “60”. 

Well that was number 56 I think and my guess is that this routine will continue to play out until we hit 60.

I look down at my number and see that I am hitting 3 digits so I’ll be here for a while yet.  Awesome.

I fold my arms, try to get comfortable and deduct that reading material to take my mind of the crazies would have been ideal. Where’s a Marie Claire when you need one? 

I stare straight ahead and don’t flinch as the woman screams out again, and another crazy is escorted through the door screaming out and demanding answers as to why his welfare got cut off.

 Where the hell am I? Psychiatrics 101? Did I miss the right door?

I must have looked a bit concerned, because the guard sitting near to me says “and why you so quiet?”

I turned to him, eyes wide open as if to say “keep your voice down… the crazy people might hear you” but this guy seems to be a mind reader because he says don’t worry about them. “This just a normal day at the SSA”.

That makes me laugh and we start to have a chat about Australia and the wildlife.  Right on key, because there is enough wildlife in here to keep us going for a while.

Another number is called, and before the lady could turn around and scream out, the guard yells out “that’s not your number ma’am”.  I start I chuckle.

He says “don’t worry about her, she is ok.  We haven’t seen her for a few months.  She told me she been having a spiritual battle and hasn’t been able to collect her welfare cheques.” 

A spiritual batte? Oh God.  Then, as if on cue a guy walks in looking like a shorter version of Christian Bale from the Fighter with a glazed look in his eye, and staring straight forward.  I thought if anyone needed an escort – it was this guy and with that he walks right past me.

Oh for the love of God, he has 666 tattooed on the back of his neck, each number about 8cm long.  The guard and I look at each other.   

What the hell? Eat your heart out Keiser Soze.

The guard says out aloud “well, well well, we got one fighting a spiritual battle, and look, in walks the devil”

I’ve seen my fair share of Paranormal State and what the devil types can do when antagonized so I shrink in my seat trying to disappear and half smile at the joke.   

Now is a good time to start cranking up the numbers on order I think, and the guard says “oh girl this place is good today, its Wednesday.  Wednesday good. Don’t come on a Monday, Friday or the first or second of the month.  Coz that’s when welfare is paid.  It just crazy in here.  Like a zoo”

A zoo? I am practically between heaven and hell and I am starting to get a little worried that I start with a silent “hail mary” and I am not even Catholic!

Another number gets called, the woman with the spiritual battle screams, and the devil looks up.

Christ.

Just as I think of making the sign of the cross, saying the Lords prayer and reminding the man above I went to church at Easter, my 3 digit number gets called.  Thank God new applications are processed out of order and I fly out of my seat so quick the woman was stunned when I arrive at her window.

So stunned in fact she didn’t talk to me the whole time, and instead grunted her way through my application process.

Maybe that’s how she keeps sane in this place.  Mind you she is protected behind what looks to be the thickest perspex I have ever seen, and so scratched I can barely make out her face. With the devil in here that’s not a bad idea.  You don’t want a guy like that knowing what you look like. 

Ten minutes later, and lots of entries keyed, the woman points to the paper and gestures me to sign.  Oh god, do I have to pick up that pen? Do I have my wet-ones? And as I start searching for my own pen she taps the paper impatiently and makes me sign with the communal one.

She gets up and leaves and I’m not sure what to do next other than grab my wet-ones out of my bag wiping every exposed part of my body as if it’s holy water.

She comes back and she slips me a piece of paper.  

I read out the top paragraph almost questioning her that my social is processing and will take about 4 weeks? She just nods her head.  I am now actually quite impressed that this woman has processed my application and not said one single word to me, not counting the grunting.

I am confused and I’m not quite sure that is the end of my application process but I get up gingerly to leave.  The devil walks right past me and the guard says “I hope you come back to see me again soon”

You have got to be kidding.  I barely force a smiile and nod.

I am about to go through my own spiritual battle as I head to the lift. 

And who in hell even knows if I will get my social security number!

The Day for the USA

The day to relocate to the USA has finally arrived.  I hear the sighs of relief from everyone at work from here as they have endured the long winded battle that has been the provisioning of my visa.  For those who didn’t know I have been “going” every weekend to the US for at least 3 months.  Even the CEO got bored of asking when I was leaving.  But folks, today I am on my way.

I’m excited and I am ready to go.  Bags packed, all three of them.  That’s impressive for me.  For these are all the possessions I have left in Sydney.  60 kg of them – in dribs and drabs.  Much has been thrown away.  The salvos got a good deal with the Wayne Coopers and Pierucci i must say.  But I feel refreshed, and exhilarated.  I have nothing weighing me down.  A girl without baggage so to speak –  for now.

I arrive at the airport with plenty of time to spare.  The silver service taxi earned his keep running me around all morning dropping bags here and boxes there.  My favourite part was when he dropped me at Check in point Z at the airport when I really needed to be at point B.  Lucky I had dropped one 20kg case in at the office, so I was only lugging 40kg the 2.5kms to check in point B.

Something is not quite right I notice as I lug my bags the 2.5kms to check in point B, I may have blown a sandshoe.  Before I could check it out, I stumble into a swarm of people crowding around the United airlines check in area.  What the hell’s going on? 

It’s like 3 hours before the flight leaves and we have some keen as mustard people here ready to check into their flight.  I shrug as I think to myself that I am here as well, but I am borderline OCD so what’s everyone else's excuse? 

Swarms of people waiting to check in, it’s like the running of the bulls, minus the red and minus the bulls.  Three hundred of them at least.  I'm dizzy just counting them all.  Where's Rain Man when you need him? They can’t be all here to check into my flight I think.  I'll be physically sick if I am number 301.

So I wait. It’s not something I am used to doing but I wait.  I watch.  I don’t join the queue. 

10.47am. Three minutes until the check in opens.  Three minutes to come up with a plan.

Think Schilo think.  Stand fast.

I look to my left.  The queue in the economy line is now about 325. I look to the right towards the Business queue and calculate the number of people...

Zero. Perfect.

I look down to my premium economy ticket and say almost out aloud with a squint and a shrug “Well it’s not really economy” and I strike.

I head straight for the Business check in and I’m first in line.  I feel like Clark Griswold arriving at Wally World.  Let’s just hope the lady behind the desk doesn’t become Marty Moose and tell me she is closed for the summer season.

No Marty Moose here, she checks me as if it was all meant to be, gave me the seat that I want and with my bags checked all the way to Atlanta. It’s a three way win!

My only concern is my poor old red suitcase.  This could very well be the end of the line for a case (a gift from Mum and Dad) that has been with me since the year 2000.  I start to understand that the blown sandshoe earlier was actually a puncture to the right wheel.  I remember the woman who sold it to us so proudly mentioning its unique feature of the “revolutionary” rollerblade wheels. Eight years later it still makes us all laugh.  Unfortunately right now, the wheels are barely turning, nevermind being revolutionary!

So its just gone 10.55am,  I’m done, dusted & a very happy camper.

I peer back at the growing economy line and silently pat myself on the back, a good call not to follow the crowd Schilo.  For I am a busy woman you know, with a ton of things to do…

Like breakfast and a soy latte stat!

The secret of being IN ‘n’ OUT

After a fabulous mid morning in Malibu for brunch, a Packed to the Rafters TV celebrity spotting and a drive along the coast back to West Hollywood, my cousins Kevin & Donnie Norte (look them up, or “like” their Facebook page - they are famous over here) started to plan our evening activities. 

It was decided we were to go watch a flick at Graumanns Chinese Theatre, and post movie was to be burgers at IN ‘n’ OUT.  Now for those of you not familiar with IN ‘n’ OUT Burgers, you may have a clearer memory of an advertisement Paris Hilton did a few years back sliding all over a car eating a burger almost naked.  Right, with me now?

Anyhoo, while I was very excited about getting burgers after the movie Kevin mentions he has to tell me something.  What I didn’t realize at the time was that I was about to hear a little treasure that seems fit for a Grand Master to mention at a local Freemasons meeting…

There is a secret menu at IN ‘n’ OUT burger.

“A secret menu?” I say as I scratch my head confused.  

“Yes a secret menu” Donnie and Kevin respond in unison.  

“Why the hell is there a secret menu?” I wonder but before I could say “Two all beef patties…special sauce…”  Kevin whips out his iPad and launches the menu on the IN ‘n’ OUT page.

I am amazed. In front of me is a full range of burgers and styles that I have never heard of before.  From what I am being told as we scroll, not one of these are mentioned on the menu inside the restaurant and if you don’t know about this secret menu… no one inside the restaurant will tell you. Weird.

So we look at all the styles of burgers.  Donnie and Kevin tell me that they are quite partial to the cheeseburger “animal” style.  Animal style, what could that possibly mean?  Why do they have a secret menu again? 

As I start to feel concerned that this could be a joke or a waste of my time, Kevin breaks my mood by announcing that they make a burger sans bread.  Yes, without bread.  A burger made with lettuce instead of the bread.  Everything else you want is in it… the burger the tomato and the cheese.  I am impressed.  Allergy perfect.  Why haven’t we thought of this before?  Why haven’t I thought of this before? 

I stop to think about it.

For two long, very long years I have almost broken into tears when a Hungry Jacks advert came on the TV.  For I am gluten intolerant.  Forget the Singapore Airlines ads, my tears practically leap off my face when I see a flame grilled whopper with cheese.  So much so I would have to leave the room.  Bloody amazing I think to myself… while everyone else is trying to make do with that gluten free bread that you can practically use as bricks to build a house, these people are just making it with lettuce.  As my CEO always says… Keep it simple stupid, and yes trying to make do with gluten free bread is indeed stupid.  Lettuce however, brilliant. So we scribble the names down of our secret burgers and out the door we go.

The movie was great, Ben Affleck gorgeous of course - however our stomachs reminded us of more important things and off we trot to IN ‘n’ OUT Burger.

Right boys have we got the names of the secret burgers?  Animal Style check, what was mine called again? Oh yes “2 x 4” check.  We are off.

We arrive at the restaurant and just as I had been told, the menu had just 3 items on it. Double burger. Cheeseburger. Hamburger.

So in a scene that played out similar to the Soup Nazi on Seinfeld we wait in line until we are called.  Next Guest please!.  That would be us.

Kevin and I go straight up to the girl and Donnie is right behind.  “Two Animal style Cheeseburgers please and a 2 x 4” we say.  She repeats the order as if we had ordered straight from a menu.  WOW.  There is a secret menu.  She types it in to her burger consol and the boys order fries and drinks. 

As she is double confirming our order that I would like the “2 x 4” Cheeseburger which consists of two burger patties and 4 pieces of cheese… I start to think oh no, that’s not what I want and say…

“Oh no, I want the burger that is surrounded in lettuce”

She says to me “which one?”

And I repeat that I would like the one with the lettuce instead of bread.  She pretends she doesn’t know what I am talking about and looks bewildered that they would have a burger like that. 

Kevin and I look at each other in disbelief, Donnie takes two steps backwards as if we just lost our key to the secret garden and I quickly say “but hang on we looked it up on the internet.  You have it – I saw it on the web!”

The girl looks at us with her eyebrow up, leans forward and mutters under her breath…  “protein”.

“huh?” I say

She leans closer and whispers with her jaw tightly clenched… “it’s called the protein”.

I felt as if we had just been subjected to the cone of silence from Get Smart as she had whispered under her breath as if she was giving us the five lotto and the two supplementary numbers that night… unbelievable.

“Yes that’s the one I want” I say.

Phew! I had no idea that the secret menu is taken so seriously.I know the Masonic Hall on Hollywood Boulevard went broke but didn’t realize that perhaps they had set up shop here.

Kevin and I pull ourselves back off the counter and I am shocked to think we almost weren’t able to order any burgers at all.  That was a close call.  I was waiting for the “No Soup for YOU! Come back 1 year” cry that made that Seinfeld episode famous and we sigh in relief.

The girl reluctantly plugs in the details and continues to look at us sideways as if she was to silently say “you two were very lucky” and we quickly pay for two animal style burgers and a protein.   I turn around to see where Donnie had escaped to.  I am sure he was so embarrassed about my error he was sure to be long gone, but no, he was just looking for a place for us to sit.

Kevin finally brave enough to speak to me after our very close call says “Wow, we were almost OUT not IN just then”.

And it clicks to me that could be the reason for the name.

Order from the secret menu you are IN, ‘n’ if you don’t, you are OUT. Ha ha I think, that’s very clever.

But you know, just for the record, no matter what happens and how many close calls almost keep me OUT… I will always find a way to be IN.

Two Animals and The Protein in the middle!

The Secret Protein....

Baby I like it big…

As I sit in front of a building that looks like a cross between El Cabello Blanco crossed with COSTCO (I imagine the horses in ragalia about to trott past) it amazes me how everything here in the United States is BIG. 

Cars, food portions, malls, food portions, trucks, food portions… You name it, it’s big.

Just step into any place with a “Pharmacy” sign out the front.  I think the sign should read “Understatement” because walking in you get a whole lot more than a Pharmacy. 

Try… a liquor store, medical centre, food store, Starbucks, one hour photo, post office, internet café oh yeah don't forget the actual pharmacy.  All important items one could possibly need in an average day… booze, drugs, food, snap happy camera opportunities, coffee and an internet connection so you can upload continuous Facebook status’s.  One stop shop I would say. 

In Oshawa, a town of 150,000 people 70km East of Toronto (where my family live), around almost every single corner there was a huge shopping centre like this.  Not a Westfield kind of shopping centre, but more like a massive home decorator centre or IT village on steroids.  Think Radio Shack, Priceline, or your local Coles supermarket but times 100 and add another 10 or so businesses.  Just seriously massive stores.  It boggles my mind wondering how any of these centres survive in times like these.

It is very lucky that I am not living in the States...yet.  This type of centre should really be called “Spend your day here”.  With a big arched sign over a dual carriage way similar to the “Welcome to Disneyland” sign in Anaheim.  A trip to the supermarket for me is a 1.5 hour journey anyway – imagine the serious time and damage I can do in a place like this.  You wouldn’t see me for days.  

In 1997 when I was living in Canada my cousin Jen and I considered it a night out in going to “Shoppers Drug Mart”.  I used to love it.  It was a makeup, confectionery, and pharmacy paradise and an hour and half in there was though of as a short trip – and yet 16 years later these massive monuments still amaze me… cue mouth agape as if I was standing in front of the grand canyon reveling in its size and beauty. 

It makes me ask the question, do we really need everything in life to come in a supersize?  Is this the future?  Did McDonalds start this upsize craze… will Australia be next in this quest for bigness greatness?

As I look up through my windscreen pondering these thought provoking very serious life changing bigness greatness questions I am shocked to see a huge HUGE white blimp sailing across the sky advertising something as if a pretend competition for bigness was underway.

I squish my face practically to the windscreen to watch this thing sail past and think…

Yes a giant blimp may win first place in that competition today… and the competition for the biggest balls for that matter.

Did they not get the Hindenburg memo?

Atlanta Airport wow, you amaze me!

Arriving from Toronto a surprising short trip on a surprisingly small aircraft I make my way out of the 5 miles or so of Atlanta Hartfield –Jackson Airport (or is it Jackson-Hartfield?).  The airport has 5 concourses A,B,C,D,E and are so long you can take an underground train to the baggage claim area. 

I didn’t even work out there was a train, until after about 15 minutes of continuous walking in one direction I finally work out why the people keep are crowding at the beginning of each concourse.  I blame that delayed thought process on the small plane, because when I stood up, I hit my head so hard on the over head bins that the people behind me gasped.  Awesome... mild concussion.

Obviously all dazed and confused I hop on the train all the way to the baggage claim.  First time I have ever seen the baggage rotating on the turnstile when the people from the flight haven’t even got there yet.  Big airport.  Still not sure how I got here on that small plane. 

Off I trot to the shuttle bus area, because I am not in a rush, and I want to see this town!

Atlanta seems like Perth to me.  Very spacious and if you lived here, buy a car!  After an hour and a half on the shuttle, I am more than happy to be dropped off at the Intercontinental right across the road from our Servcorp location at Terminus 200.  WOW WOW WOW! 

Servcorp you amaze me too.  Great locations, fantastic team and a fit out on the floors to boot! PHotos are coming soon I promise!

36 hours in Atlanta before heading to Boston, and I am more than ready to jump back into work. 

You know what folks, I love my job.

Just a short stay in Atlanta and its over already...

You know Atlanta has the airport system down pat.  After my Toronto Pearson experience, I was up and early after my 1.5 day stay.  Arriving at the airport at 8.30am for an 11am flight, I was not about to re-live my 45 minutes stand in line time with Delta and panic about the time. 

My taxi dropped me right off in front of the Delta gates and to my absolute viewing pleasure I see a “curb-side” bag drop.  Big grin! I checked in online yesterday so I was very pleased to have been dropped off,  and not ticked off by 8.33am.  Check in complete! Oh my, hasn’t the day started off well!

Straight into the airport doors and I wiz by the Red Coats… They are actually helping people this time and there are no massive lines to check in inside either.  I must be in the Bizzaro Delta world (very “Jerry Seinfeld” if you are a fan) I am kind of impressed with Delta today. Maybe I should buy a lotto ticket too… my luck is up.

Off to Starbucks I head – yes I have grown quite accustomed to my grande vanilla soy latte each morning.  Don’t panic Mum, I’m losing weight not putting it on….

Interestingly I am not a Starbucks kind of person in Sydney.  I don’t think many people are.  No wonder when at the onset of the GFC, Starbucks closed 60 Australian stores.  Good move.  On the other hand, everyone here in the US loves it, so better to open new stores here I’d say. I mean, in New York, I couldn’t walk in to a store with out 20 people in the line.  And not one to stand in any kind of line I would immediately walk out again.  While I may be slightly addicted, life is too short to be standing in long lines. The Starbucks craze hasn’t quite caught on in Canada either.  Only saw a couple of stores.  In Canada, they still drink that awful perculated stuff from Tim Hortons!

So I cruise through the security point check in, the guy sending me through actually used to live in Maroubra so he gave me a fist high five.  Sweet, straight through to x-ray.  Off go the boots, the jacket, out comes the laptop and my 1 quart bag of tiny gels and liquids and the team are incredibly streamlined and fast.  One guy was having a great time with his tedious role by calling out all the things that we need to know in a song type rhyme.  Love people having fun with their job.  Great attitudes are contagious!

They have the body x-ray thing here and I am well rapt to be selected to get into it.  Have no idea why that was exciting for me, but its funny to stand there infront of everyone feet apart and your hands in the air like you are being held up!  After my hold up at Coco’s Restaurant with Drew in 2000, I am not sure why or how I can possibly have a sense of humour about being held up at gun point, but somehow I have…

So while I am hours early for my flight, sit in the general area (no Qantas lounge here folks) and being just a touch too early for a champagne , I sit and reflect on what a great couple weeks it has been...  Yep, I love my life right about now.

Welcome to DELTA, how can we not help you?

The day to leave my beloved Toronto behind came so quickly, that I feel like the past 5 days were the quickest of my life. There are quite a few little tales to be told from Canada and I'll write about those soon.  I know my cousin Jen is probably waiting for a bit of a plug!

But for now its time to leave and I’ll be back TO, I promise.  I love you!

So I am off and get started on the 401 – a direct Highway to Pearson airport. 120km all the way and just under an hour I was there.  Filled the hire car with gas, and into the terminal I go travelling light with all 5 bags.

Delta, Delta, Delta, looking, looking, looking, walking, walking, walking.. ah found it.. the only counter with a zillion school kids all decked out in uniform.  Awesome. But I am cool, I have 2 hours to check in.  I’ll be fine… until I look up…. DELTA, oh DELTA a DISASTER.

Toronto – NYC delayed until 4pm, and it was only 11am!  There goes the connecting flight to Atlanta at 3.

Alifiya was right.. “take the direct flight” she said.  No no, I’ll take the cheapest and connect in JFK I say – keep costs low.  I am such an idiot I think and almost ask the guy behind me to kick me hard in the pants.  I guess I now know what it feels like when people choose a cheap competitor over Servcorp.  Delays delays delays.  I feel like a 155MB file trying to download on a shared 1Mb link.  Ooh that was geeky talk, but lesson learnt, you get what you pay for.

So its 11.08am and I’m standing in the shortest line of 5 people.  11.30am still standing there.  11.50am I’m still standing there.  What are all these people training?  Have they never done this before?  I mumble something under my breath that I have never seen so many useless people in one confined area before.  Something has to be amiss…  are all these people fill in casuals or something?  I am absolutely certain I read that DELTA Airlines have people in Red Coats at every terminal just to help you out, “because they are committed to customer service” or something like that… more like the RED SHIRTS absolutely trying to block you completely entering any city, devoid of any service at all and as far as I know we are not even in Bangkok!

So it’s finally my turn and I get to the counter.  Oh she not happy Jan.  My lady is complaining to the next guy that she has to take her break now.  Oh no you don’t sweetie, I’ve been standing in line for 45 minutes, you WILL serve me.  But I smile my fake smile, and try to charm her with my accent.

“So the flight has been delayed” I say, “gee I should have taken the direct flight, how will I connect to Atlanta now?”.  Nothing back.  So I blink a couple of times and move a little closer.  Maybe she didn’t hear me.  I am thinking if she doesn’t look up soon, I might just launch into a tirade al la Steve Martin in Planes Trains and Automobiles at the car rental place lady.  But I wasn’t about to hear the end couple of words out of that scene and decide against it, because I HAVE to get to Atlanta.

“I’ve put you on the direct flight” are the best words and only words I hear back from the attendant.  “You are all set, you leave in an hour”.

Thanks love, row 13A, ooh!  Up the front I think, and I keep walking quickly before she changes her mind.

I fly through the gates to customs and welcome to the USA sign greets me.  There has to be 200 people waiting in line, and I haven’t even checked my bags in.  Flight leaves in 1 hour and if the customs part is anything like the check in part, I am in real trouble.

20 minutes in customs and a grilling from the border security, everything I have been up to in the past month just falling short of the colour of underwear I am wearing today. I finally check my bags in.

I still have to go through the x-ray yet.  Another 20 minutes, shoes & jacket off, laptop out,  and 200 people later I have under 10 minutes to get to the gate.  Now I understand why my family and friends choose to drive to Buffalo and fly out of there – now that we are 2 hours in this ordeal, Buffalo is absolutely quicker!

I sprint to the gate for my up the front seat and look out the window in bewilderment. I skidded to a halt.  Staring back at me is a fockker CJ700 jet.  Seats 70.  The ones that can only fly at 10,000 feet because any higher they are likely to crumple like an aluminum can.  The kind of jet when one has crashed into the ocean and you hear “all 70 people on board perished” and you wonder to yourself, who in their right mind is flying on a small plane like that.  Well right about now.  That would be me.

My 13A seat now feels like row 60 on a 747, and walking on board I am like gigantor and have to duck my head.  Lucky I didn’t wear the new 5 inch heeled ankle boots.  I would have had to crawl along the ground as if I was in a tunnel looking for something.  I find my seat 3^rd row from the back.  Lucky I have lost a bit of weight, because everything was in tiny proportions.  I look around.  There was no need to count the seats to the emergency exit like I usually do.  If I just lift my arm I can practically pull the emergency release on the door from here.  I am slightly terrified.  I wish I had a do-over as I didn’t fill in the emergency contact details for next-of-kin when booked the ticket. 

We taxi out to the runway to take off, and I look out the window for the guy with the remote control. Man this plane is small.  But with only an hour and 40 minutes before we land in Atlanta, I hope that DELTA can make good on the most important of all service requests and actually get me there.  I turn to the lady sitting beside me and ask…

“We are not going over an ocean are we?”

Oh, Canada…our home and native land…

Well not exactly my home and native land, but there is something about being in Canada that makes me feel like I have just arrived home.

Maybe because back in 1996-97 I lived here under the Australian working holiday programme and had one of the two defining times in my life so far. 

Though I believe that Toronto Pearson Airport may have a bone to pick wiith me.  I havent even been that bad, but I always seem to have problems here.

Back in 1996 when I arrived for 12 months, they almost didn’t let me in the country.  My Uncle Walter waited for over an hour before I came out of customs… and thought I had missed my plane.  When I tried to leave back in 2004, American Airlines couldn’t find my ticket reservation at the check in counter and could only find my Mum's.  And today, Toronto Pearson wasn’t about to let me down…

It was very unlike me to have a bathroom stop immediately after a teeny 1 hour flight from New York, but today was going to be different.  I had a feeling… no not that kind of feeling, that I should go straight to the baggage counter.. but no, I did a stop off against my gut feeling along the way.

Number 1’s this time was a BIG MISTAKE.

I waited and waited for one of the cubicles to be free, and I knew… I just knew I should hold it and wait… but I had to go to the car rental place straight from Customs and the 77kms to Oshawa would have pushed the boundary of being comfortable.

I hate public bathrooms… you won't find me pointing out the best public bathrooms in any city a.k.a George Costanza from Seinfeld – because if it’s public it’s a no-go Schilo zone.

So after breaking my own rule, I hot foot it over to the baggage claim.  I see that most of the baggage had been collected.  Mmm not good, but I see my Victoria Secret PINK bag coming round the bend.  I grab it.  I wait for my large shiny polycarbonate unmistakable suitcase to show, and as there are no bags left on the belt, I spot a smaller, similar but very different shiny bag coming my way. Mmmm that looks a lot smaller than mine for sure... oh... no....

Oh yes, you go it, someone took my luggage… awesome. So I grabbed the wrong case and took it off the belt.

Now, I purposefully took one of the earliest flights out of New York just incase I had a delay – because I have a vey special birthday to get to in the evening that I can not miss.  Lucky it's only 9am, I have plenty of time.  This actually puts me in a tolerable patient mood instead of an impatient, intolerable one that comes with time pressure.

Off I go to the service desk right by the baggage claim and made my own claim about someone taking my luggage. Judging by the weight and size of the bag left behind, the person who took it must have had a dog and/or long white cane in hand… because my bag was twice as big and twice as heavy.  I did have a chuckle to myself, because all I had in that case was makeup, my 5 inch heel boots and t-shirts.  No pants. The thought of someone all dolled up, heels, white cane with no pants on certainly would have been humerous.

So the guy at the service counter tells me that someone has collected my bag and it’s now on the belt to be loaded to Ottawa.  Oh awesome.  Perfect.  Ottawa.  That’s a 5 hour drive away.  I tell the guy that my bag is only tagged to Toronto, and he said that he was sorry but the bag was in the system and it can take 7-8 hours for bags to fall out the other side.  well I can tell you, that I’m about to fall out the other side.  But! I decide to smile because the up side was that I could go shopping for more clothes, make up and heels.  Yes that’s a big upside… Yorkdale here I come!

So I fill out all my details and its now 9.30am, have called everyone I can to tell them of my plight and off I head to the car rental place.  I have every intention of stopping off at Yorkdale Shopping Centre, but before I could say “Charge it to my credit card” I receive a call form my cousin Jen that the baggage claim people had called to say they had found my bag.  DAMN IT.   Just when I was getting excited.

They had to call Jen of course, because they needed a local number for my claim form.  Strange isn’t it, that they would not accept an American number… “No No must be a local number” Gees people, because it makes total sense that everyone walking off a plane in Toronto already has a local telephone number with them.  NOT!

Oh Canada, I am still smiling as I load my other bags into the trunk of the car and head back into Terminal 3. 

At the airport, it’s so easy to walk out of customs, however I dare you to try walk back through the wrong way and see how you go.  Essentially what happens is that the minute you cross over that point you are either in or out of the country.  Right now I was in Canada… but my suitcase was in the US.  So you guessed it, I had to go back through customs escorted by two men and collect my displaced bag, was stamped out of Canada, stamped back into the US, and back into Canada again. 

Sounds just like me in fine form coming, going back and forth to Canada over the past 13 years… but will I stay this time or will I go?