Making It Up As I Go Along #397

Airport Hits
Retrieving your car from long-term parking at the airport is probably the most lonely event in a man’s life. Especially when the event occurs during the Christmas season.

It starts at the re-entrance to the real world. That’s when you leave the artificial life of airport security and go back to the land of the living.

I always find that somewhat similar to how astronauts must feel when they return to earth. You are walking through an exclusive world. Everyone there is going to or coming from somewhere. They’re all in travel mode... focused... slightly uneasy... rushing.

It sounds horrible but there’s something I like about being in airport security areas. I guess it’s the feeling of having made it. You passed the test... you aren’t that bad... no rubberized fingers had to probe bodily orifices.

Once you leave, the real world closes in around you once again.

It starts with great signs that warn you of the oncoming reality. Telling you that once you walk through, there’s no coming back. You almost want to turn around and go sit in front of the giant windows, watching planes taxi by.

By you go on through and hit the slowest escalator known to man. It’s the display escalator. And it’s you that’s going on display.

Real world people stand around at the bottom of the escalator. Most of eternal grins on their faces... unable to handle the excitement of the arriving family member. And when that family member actually hits the escalator... it’s like John Lennon entering a Beatles convention. The family members lunge forward, knocking over security guards and the elderly so that they can be standing right there next to the escalator’s end. As if a step upon solid ground can not be taken without that loved one draped over you.

For the single man... nobody awaits. Some must look on with sadness as they see him walk to the luggage carousel and await his bags all alone.

The feeling soon wears off though. As those sad onlookers shove the single guy out of the way in order to quickly scoop up Aunt Dolores’s luggage. After all, the meter’s running. Parking meter that is. Two minutes can mean the difference of $2. Parking a car at the airport is like buying hard drugs. How much of the drug called time, can you afford.

I get my bag and change for the outdoors. Down jacket and wool cap come out. It’s a slow trudge over ice cold concrete as ice cold winds sweep around ice cold pillars. Short term parkers can remain indoors when getting to the car. They don’t need to feel the harshness of winter until they reach their home driveway with warm glows from warm inside lights welcome you back.

Long term parking is an outdoor lot and you walk along what feels like an industrial lot in order to reach it. The only time cold winds don’t overtake you is when the cold whine of airplane turbines overshadow them.

The car is a welcome thing. The first sign of your actual existence within this town. A familiar face in the form of a tail gate. But the car doesn’t say “welcome back, it’s good to see you.” It says “where the hell did YOU go!” It sits there frozen and possibly even more lonely than you. Days of frost have clouded the insides and one whole side of the car shows the evidence of that ice storm you heard about that hit a few days before.

I’m not talking about a bit of frost or thin layer of ice on the windshield. I mean that the entire passenger side of the car was strapped to an ocean liner and sent out to battle the waves of a North Atlantic winter storm. Feet of ice would be an exaggeration... but centimetres and inches would not.

But the parking drug clock is ticking and I need to do battle with the elements. I’m like that Fargo scene where William H. Macy tries to scrape his windshield, but ends up hitting it with the useless device in his hands. It’s like trying to scrape concrete off the ground.

A half hour of this work goes on. You’re left wondering why the airlines can’t lend a de-icer to the airport authority... ready to spray long term parking cars as the owner strolls along a pine encased walkway, all sheltered from the winds and acting as a winter wonder land.

But no... there are no pine encased walkways. And there is no parking lot de-icer. The elderly would wind up dead in a frozen pile at the edge of their automobile salvation... one hand gripping their chest while the other continues to hold their ice scraper in a hard fast death grip.

After the half hour, I have all but one square foot of the ice removed. That one square foot is simply impossible to remove without a blow torch. No hard or sharp device known to man would penetrate it. Five days after the event... it remains there still. Scared with the lines of my ice scraper... but not penetrated. It will remain there until Spring.

Once done... and back within the car... I sit alone breathing hard and having just worked up a sweat, despite the -18 degrees outside. I pull out and head to the exit... only to find that I spent too long scraping. Despite having prepaid my parking in the comfort of the airport, the computer tells me I now owe another $6 in order to depart. There’s no human here to argue with. There’s only a cold wooden plank dropped down in front of my car while I stand outside (having not been able to lower my frozen window). I’ve no choice... the credit card pays off my parking “dealer”. I’m square... and on my way... knowing that sometime next year, I’ll need another “hit”. And the airport will fix me up, not caring anything about me... just as long as I have the cash.

MONDAY...
— Lunch with Craig downtown. A nice time.
— Lazy in the afternoon around the house and tired. Peter and Kelly come for supper and I’m too stuffed by the end of the night. Some hockey on TV and sorting through some boxes of my stuff end the night.

TUESDAY...
— Fly day. Sleep in some in the morning and laze about during the day. To the airport for about 3:00 and fly out. Halifax is snowy and a great night view of Montreal... it ends up being a nice trip back... although I’d rather have not taken it.
— The car is iced over. Scraping for about thirty minutes... long enough that I have to pay an extra $6 to leave the lot (having gone over the allotted time to go from the airport to the long-term parking and gotten out.
— Unwind some once I get home at around 9:00.

WEDNESDAY...
— Noon to eight at work. It’s okay. Not many people around. Groceries after work. Need to re-stock a bit after a week out of town.

THURSDAY...
— Quiet New Years Eve alone at home... watching Canada vs. USA junior hockey. Great game... with a shootout scarring the night. Still fun... but would rather have seen it end in a real moment of hockey.

FRIDAY...
— Hockey in Fenway. Kind of neat... I sort of lost interest as the game went on though. Boston vs. Philadelphia should be better.
— Arcade Fire is on Austin City Limits. First time I’ve seen them in concert... and amazing. Canada’s greatest band... perhaps of all time. For such a great band, they don’t get enough Canadian press in my mind. Canada is too busy promoting Nickleback, Blue Rodeo and rambling on about Rush. And don’t get me wrong, I’m a Blue Rodeo fan... but none of those bands are in Arcade Fire’s league.

SATURDAY...
— Too cold and windy to go outside. Some movies and hockey... and reading.