Life...so tough Or Continuing Airport Saga

"Thank you for holding, your call is very important to us...."

If I hear that one more time, I swear I will explode. On the other hand, I really shouldn't grumble. I am the creator of my misery.

How easy one forgets where one comes from. There was a time when I needed visa literally everywhere. They were to keep those pesky Eastern Europeans out of the civilized world. Now that we're fully fledged Europeans, I don't need them. Almost. There's but a handful of countries that still hold their noses up high. One of them is Canada. Canada! Who'd remember. Canada seems so friendly and welcoming and all...

"One of our customer service representatives will assist you shortly..."

It is the most expensive mistake I've made so far. $1,500 mistake. My flight to Canada is just taking off. I had to buy another ticket to go to a conference I don't want to go to in the first place. I didn't even finish writing my paper for it. Everybody will be smarter there. Everybody will have fancy colorful presentations and will know tedious details about minorities in countries most people cannot even pronounce.

"We apologize for inconvenience. All of our representatives are assisting other customers..."

I am clearly being punished by the Gods for my carelessness. I get everything served on a plate in my life. Everything works out miraculously, even when I least deserve it. Now I pulled an all-nighter, my nerves are shot, and the Powers that be seated two gossipy women just across the coffee table from me. The one facing me is the most repulsive eater I have ever encountered. She chews with her mouth open, talking loudly, spitting pieces of her roastbeef sandwich on the table. And I cannot detangle the darn earphones.

There. I finally hear from the Cheapseats.com representative. Too bad, she says. No refund. My return ticket may not be valid either, since I didn't board the flight to Toronto. She says to give it a try anyway and wishes me good luck.

Thank you very bloody much. As one hundred and thirty seven times before I swear I will think about what I'm doing when I'm doing. I will come on time. I will wash my hands before meal and I will not sleep with anyone on first date.

At least now that I'm off the phone I can listen to the soundtrack for Cleopatra!, rehearsal of which I am missing. If I was on this new flight to begin with, I could have made it to the rehearsal, and could have been in another dance number. Plus I bet it's a little more fun than watching these two whales spit food at each other. Ryan probably runs around the stage like a madman and tells everybody to "gay it up". They might be putting Cleopatra's throne on the hydraulic lift in the middle of the stage and trying out the dance number I helped to choreograph just yesterday. And I have to pull another all-nighter on the plane and browse through the six books and seven articles I brought and learn about the sorry bastards that lead the Eastern European countries in 1950s. Gomulka, Gottwald, Kadar. Nagy is not a sorry bastard, but I'd rather sing anyway. Piasecki is outright interesting - he was a cunning viscious calculator. I'll start with Piasecki then. And hum "Everything is Whiter in Rome" along.