Wilson's Canadian Chronicles

For those of you fortunate enough to not have to see me regularly, my shoulder has been getting better and better since the crash. I can now lift my arm up to 90 degrees, and go through most of the day without a sling. There's no pain as long as I don't have to stand for too long or do anything overhead.

Thursday, Jan 24, LaGuardia Airport

At the security checkpoint, I find that getting all my things onto the conveyor belt is much easier compared to the last time. Proud and happy that I've healed up so quickly, I prepare to step through the metal detector.

"Hold on, sir. I'm gonna have you step into the machine here." a security officer stops me and motions towards the full body scanner.

"Oh, sure." I reply. I'm actually anxious to see what the machine is all about, and eager to blind the officer at the computer that has to look at my nakedness. I step in, set my feet on the stenciled footprints, then look up to see this:

Son of a bitch

Do it! The brutish part of my brain says. Show no weakness!
Yeah, but. The rational part speaks up. You're physically incapable of actually doing it. Just tell the guy.
No! Do it anyway! Brutus replies. Be MANLY!!

Being manly, I decide to go for it. My right hand touches my head just fine, but as mentioned before, my left arm can't go past 90 degrees. I end up posing like a disco superstar and/or MJ.

"Sir, please hold the pose like on the sign." the officer says.

"I...I actually have a separated shoulder." It takes a moment to force Brutus to shut up. "I can't lift this arm any higher."

"Oh. This way, then." he guides me to the metal detector as the officer at the computer breathes a sigh of relief. I make it through fine and continue on my way.

Flight to Montreal

On my first flight, I'm seated next to a rotund middle-aged man. I ask him what he's heading to Montreal for. He says he's returning home to Fredericton, New Brunswick (the Canadian province bordering Maine, not our fair town in Jersey).

"I came to New York to retrieve my cousin who just passed, and take her home. I've stored her right up there." he points up at the overhead compartment. I start laughing at his joke.

"Haha!...Ha...uh..." I stop as I see him regarding me with a steady half-smile. He's not laughing.

"Um. I can't tell if you're joking or not." I say.

"I'm not." he replies. 

Now my mind is racing, wondering how it's possible that he's stored a corpse in the overhead compartment (by the way, Corpse in the Overhead Compartment is the name of my new album). Is she folded up awkwardly and crammed in there? Was she a very small person who is now in a very small coffin? Don't coffins have to go into large storage with the checked bags?

The man sees the confusion on my face.

"She was cremated. I have her ashes in an urn." 

"Oh. Right." 

I resolve to start reading more books.

Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island

It's cold here: -2°F, and a bit windy. Just walking from airport to cab, and cab to hotel, the chill cuts through my heavy coat and even my thick layer of blubber.

I make it to my hotel at around 6:30pm local time. At this point I'm starving, having been up since 7am and only eating some airplane pretzels along the way. With no rental car again, I head out in search of food.

I'm cold, hungry, and weary after a day of travel. I head towards what looks like the main part of town, only finding a Tim Horton's after a few minutes walking. Then a Robin's Donuts. Then another Tim Horton's. 

What is with this damn country and donuts? I think to myself. I need real food. MEAT. 

Then, off in the distance, I see a sign that says "First Chicken". I almost drop to my knees in gratitude, but realize that if I did so, the impact would shatter me into a hundred frozen pieces. I hurry towards the sign, excited to not only have found chicken, but the first chicken. I reach the store, and discover that it actually says:

I fill the air with a string of expletives and continue on, eventually finding an A&W restaurant which I don't think we have in the Northeastern U.S. The food is mediocre, but I add to my bucket list that if we ever become wealthy enough, my sister and I should franchise an A&W restaurant for the sake of the name.

Taking an alternate route back to my hotel, I find a Walmart at which to stock up on snacks and water. This Walmart has a McDonald's inside of it, which is the most American thing imaginable, yet I'm finding it in Canada. It also makes for this amusing picture from the outside.

Flashback to earlier in January

A couple days after the car crash, I had gone back to Bensalem, PA to look at my car. Taking anything out that was salvageable, I was surprised to see that a few bottles of beer in the trunk had remained intact. These were beers we had bought in Baltimore, including a couple of bottles of this:

Edgar Allan Poe beer

I grabbed the beers from the totaled car and went home. Then, last Saturday the 19th, I took the beers with me as I drove over to my friend's house. Along the way, I entertained the possibility that the beer was cursed, since Poe was all about darkness and death and such. I thought about how funny and unfortunate it would be if I got into another accident because of this beer. Just then, a car pulled in front of me, its license plate reading:

LENORE

My heart damn near stopped beating then, but I made it to my destination and had my friends drink the cursed beer for me.

(The plate was actually "LENORE 2" if you want to be a dick and try to call me out with a DMV search)

Back in Canada

I make my way back from Walmart to the hotel. It's been about an hour total of walking out in the freezing cold, and I'm chilled to the bone. Even after a hot shower and climbing into bed, I find I'm still almost shivering. I consider hiring a prostitute for the sole reason of literally sharing my bed to keep me warm. In fact, I had seen one that I really liked standing on a corner earlier, but he turned out to be a regular guy.

I fall asleep after some time.

And then I'm awakened by very loud talking outside my door. Groggy, I shift around a little, then start falling asleep again.

Then a loud THUMP from outside. My eyes snap open, but I reason that it was just the person in the room next to mine slamming their door. I start falling asleep again.

Then a loud THUMP right on my bed.

It's unmistakable. My mind says. That's the exact sound and vibration when Reno stands up and slams his front paws onto the bed at home.
But you're not at home.
You're in Canada.
Reno's not here.
...Then what the hell was....??
LENORE

"NO!" I fly out of bed and grab the nearest object, a 5-foot tall floor lamp, and stand there holding it defensively across my body for a good minute or so. After deciding there was no immediate threat, I flip on the lights, scan the room, and find nothing. I drop a heavy chair against the door just in case.

This is probably a good thing to do at hotels anyway

To this day I don't know what the THUMP was. Maybe it was a heavy comforter falling weirdly and hitting the side of my bed. Maybe I imagined the whole thing, being startled by the previous noises, and/or missing Reno. All I know is, having trained with staff and spear, I felt safe almost immediately upon grabbing the lamp and having it as a mock polearm. Getting back into bed, I reflect on how I love improvised weapons, and how, indeed, I love lamp.

Friday, January 25th

My interview ends around time for a late lunch. Feeling hungry, I set out once again in search of food. I wonder to myself if there is a quintessential Canadian dish that I'm supposed to try, and I think of poutine. I had never had poutine, but I knew it was basically cheese fries covered in gravy. Not wanting a heart attack, I decide against it, and get some jewtine instead.

(None of the nearby bagel places actually offered lox, so I had to go to the supermarket and spend $11 on that joke. Judging from your reaction, it was not worth it.)

After walking around and exploring more, I retire back to my hotel, and visit its pub for chowder and a beer. I find myself back in my room at 7:30pm, well fed and energized. 

I definitely resolved the night by hitting the bars and tearing up the town; I definitely did not sit and watch Ellen clips on Youtube for hours.

...In my defense, there were no bars around, and barely any people. Also, Ellen. 

[I blame you, CP.]

The Return Home

While it takes two flights to get from NYC to PEI, it takes three flights to get back. The third flight was from Montreal. If you don't know, Montreal's airport is HUGE, and there's a good deal of walking involved to get between domestic flights and international flights. After spending close to three days in Canada, and having to deal with converting money over and over as I constantly misjudge how much I'll need, and having to hear everything repeated in the horrible language of French (why can't they just speak AMERICAN), I am pretty irate as I make my way through the airport. After walking for about 10 minutes towards where my gate is supposed to be, I finally see this wonderful sight on a sign up ahead.

Elated, I follow the signs down a weird side hallway, past a maintenance closet and worker offices. It's another long walk down an empty, winding corridor, but the sight of Old Glory carries me forward, and since I'm alone, I start loudly singing the chorus of God Bless the U.S.A. over and over. When I pass through the final set of glass doors at the end, the worker on the other side gives me a quizzical look from her desk. I'm not sure if she heard me or not, but I smile and nod and eventually make it back to the Land of the Free.

The Slippery Dick

Today's Animal of the Day is the Slippery Dick.

I'm purposely not saying any more so that you're forced to Google it and have it in your search history.

The Maned Wolf

Today's Animal of the Day is the Maned Wolf. It is the tallest wild canid, standing at about 3 feet tall, and is found in the grasslands of South America. Its incredibly long legs help it to see over tall grass to spot small mammals and birds to hunt.  Unlike other canids, the Maned Wolf does not hunt in packs, and is typically shy around humans and others of its kind. The animal's urine also has a distinct smell that is similar to the scent of cannabis.

Despite looking like a fox and being named a wolf, the Maned Wolf is not identified with either group, and is considered a distinct and unique canid on its own.

Wilson’s Kansas Kronicles (thankfully my name doesn’t start with a K)

[Trying out blogger to see what it's all about. To start, here is a writeup of my most recent adventure, a little over a week ago]

A bit of backstory first; on New Year's Day I was in a car crash. As I was pulling out of a parking lot, thinking I was clear on the left, another car came flying in and hit me just in front of my driver's side door. He was going fast enough to leave 100ft of skid as he braked and still hit with enough force to total both cars. His car was also full of narcotics, though I haven't heard the results of his drug test yet.

In any case, as the impact occurred, my mighty left bicep deflected most of the damage, but the puny ligaments in my shoulder tore apart, resulting in a Grade III shoulder separation. My left arm is now in a sling.

Newark Airport, Thursday (Jan 3, 2013)

I hadn't been on a plane in close to 7 years, so I hadn't had to deal with the strict new TSA, with the stripping down and the touching of the junk and the cavity searching. As I waited in line to go through security, all I could think about was whether or not I was going to get probed. With my injured shoulder, taking off my coat and shoes and getting my two bags and suit jacket all onto the conveyor belt was rough, but I eventually manage to pass through the machine.

On the other side, I begin to collect my things, when an officer approaches me and says "Sir, I need to perform a check..."

I think, Oh God, I'm about to get probed.

"...on your bag here." he holds up my messenger bag. Confused, I consent and walk over to the side with him. He spends a couple of minutes going through the bag, and finally takes out my Swiss Army knife.

I had knowingly packed it in there, since I like to take a flashlight and multi-tool with me wherever I go. It never occurred to me that maybe a contraption full of hidden blades is not ok on an airplane.

"Oh. Oops." is all I manage to say. The officer raises an eyebrow and passes my bag through the machine again, clearing it for passage.

"Well, that's yours now. Sorry about that." I say. He tells me it happens all the time and waves me through. Sadly, he didn't pat me down or probe me.

Flight to Kansas

The plane is a small one, seating about 50 people. Small plane means narrow aisle, which means the food cart can barely squeeze through. Unfortunately for me, my seat was one that left my injured arm exposed to the aisle. The flight attendant is also a larger woman who barely fits in the aisle herself, and she nudges my arm in passing a total of 12 times during the 3 hour flight. I counted. She also came damn close to wheeling the food cart right into my shoulder.

Somewhere in the middle of the flight, I look around and see a stereotypical, vapid-looking blonde bimbo in the seat behind and across from me. She's dead asleep, mouth agape and all. I look down and see her book is open to page one; she couldn't even make it past the first page before falling asleep. I chuckle to myself.

Then I turn back to my own book and instantly pass out.

In my defense, I had made it to page 12 beforehand. So I'm roughly 12 pages smarter than the average vapid blonde bimbo.

Kansas City Airport

I make it to KC. I had previously scheduled a bus service to take me to Manhattan, Kansas, roughly 2 hours away, where my interview at KSU was. The bus service seemed a little sketchy during booking; the website was poorly designed, no one picked up until my tenth time calling, and the guy immediately hung up after getting my credit card information. I went with it because it was cheap and I had no other options, being unable to drive.

At the airport now, I ask numerous workers where it is that I’m supposed to wait for that bus service. None of them know what I'm talking about and have never even heard of the company. I try calling the service again, finally getting through on the fifth try. They inform me that someone will come to my gate and have a sign with my name on it; so I should just wait there. I do so, waiting for about 15 minutes well after scheduled pickup time. Then...

"Excuse me, are you waiting for [bus name]?" a little old lady approaches me.

"Yes ma'am." I reply. Turns out she's scheduled to take the same bus to Topeka, one stop before Manhattan. We're relieved to find each other in the same situation and quickly strike up conversation. Eventually, she tells me about how she's widowed, but now has a "boyfriend, no, excuse me, man-friend, ha ha!" because she was a Christian, and he was a Christian, and that's all that mattered. I smile to myself, thinking about how much of a stereotypical Midwestern little old white lady she is.

"I'm Wilson, by the way." I offer my hand.
Her name is probably some little old white lady name like Agnes Smith, I think to myself.

"I'm Frances Wood."

Ha.

We chat some more, and after I explain that I'm here for a vet school interview, she says she would love to keep in touch and see how it turns out. She gives me her email address. When I eventually do write her, and begin it with "Dear Frances...", I'm going to feel like I should be writing with a feather pen and inkwell by candlelight.

Another 20 minutes later, we're still waiting for the damn bus. During a lull in the conversation, I see her in my peripheral vision opening and closing her mouth, as if she wants to say something but is afraid to do so. I turn to her and raise my eyebrows inquisitively.

"So, um, do you have Oriental blood in you?" she asks.

I smile inwardly at how delicately the question was asked. It was a nice change from what had happened about 10 years before, when a surly old lady on Staten Island once asked me,

"Are you Chinese? Go back to China."

Despite Frances’s kindness and innocence, I still had to fight the urge to be a douche and reply that I'm actually Nigerian.

The bus eventually arrives an hour late, except it's no bus at all, it's a rickety old minivan with 500k miles on it, packed with 9 passengers and a weary driver who looks like he's about to fall asleep, and who almost hits a pedestrian on the way out of the airport.

Motel 6

Thankfully, the driver gets me to Manhattan, and I make my way to my lodging, a Motel 6 that I booked for $36 a night. I joked with a few of you that we would see how many diseases I contract while staying there. Well.

I buy a bottle of orange juice from the vending machine, because I feel parched and like I need some more vitamins. I enter my room, bring the bottle to my lips, and immediately get a cold sore.

Oral herpes. Two days before my interview. And I can't even raise my other arm to shake a fist at the heavens.

I sigh and resolve to go get some Abreva. I have to go back to the front desk to ask about a 24 hr drug store. I step out of my room, close the door behind me, and out of habit try to open it again to make sure it's locked.

The door swings wide open.

I try again and again to lock the door, discovering that turning the handle isn't even necessary; the door simply pushes open from the outside. I begin to seriously regret booking a $36 motel as I grab my things and go back to the front desk. The worker there is kind enough to give me a new room with a more or less functional lock, as well as refund me $10. She also points me to a 24-hr Walmart, about 5 minutes walking away.

Well everything will work out now. I think to myself. I'll go to Walmart, come back, and finally be able to rest for the night, even though it's already 12:30am.

I set my stuff down and begin walking. I quickly realize that the roads and parking lots here are not very well paved, and that I'm walking across an icy field of slippery death; an especially daunting endeavor with my arm in a sling. I make it to the Walmart parking lot, but there I spot a 6-ring plastic can holder on the ground.

I had promised many years ago to always pick those things up whenever I come across them. Seeing this as a test of my resolve, I knew I had to get this one, and knelt down carefully to discover it was encased in ice. I had to pull with some force to get it free, and in the process, I slipped and fell onto my shoulder. My good shoulder, thankfully, but it still jarred my body and hurt like hell.

After groaning and writhing for a few seconds, I looked ahead to see the blacktop was properly paved about 30 feet away. I had to make my way over to dry ground to be able to stand. As I slowly dragged myself across the ice, I envisioned myself as a wounded soldier making his way across the battlefield, but really, I was just a fat guy floundering pathetically in an empty parking lot.

Finally I make it to dry ground and am able to stand up and walk. I enter the Walmart to discover it’s the biggest I’ve ever seen; twice the size of the Walmarts I'm used to. This one has a grocery store and everything, as if a Walmart and a Shoprite fused together. I then realize that that’s probably exactly what happened; this mega-Walmart pushed out all other competition with its scheming, undercutting, absurdly low prices.

That said, I proceed to enjoy their absurdly low prices, getting my Abreva and stocking up on food and water.

Manhattan, Kansas

Friday was spent touring the town, the university, and the vet college with my colleague out there.

Saturday was the interview. It went alright, though some of the questions they threw at me were more shocking and frightening than seeing the car outside my window just before the crash four days earlier.

Kansas City, Missouri (Not Kansas. What the heck.)

After the interview, I took the same 'bus' service to get back to Kansas City. This ride was much better; it was with a cool 30yo dude named Travis who liked classic rock and country. I was the only pickup on this trip so we made it to my hotel at the airport within 2 hours. Since this ride was during the daytime, I got to lay eyes upon the rolling plains of Kansas, beautiful even with the dead-grass color of winter. Fly Over States plays in my head.

After arriving at my hotel, I realize that the airport is 30 miles away from Kansas City itself, where I had hoped to spend the Saturday night before flying back. If I had had my rental car, it would have been no problem, but now I'm sitting in a hotel out in the middle of nowhere, with no car and no left arm.


But still, I'm in KC, and not likely to ever return. I have to get some BBQ, dammit. I look around online and, through the magic of Yelp, I discover that the Hilton down the street has a restaurant within, with award winning BBQ from an award winning chef. Granted, 'down the street' was 1.5 miles down a desolate road, but that wasn’t going to deter me.

My sneakers were made for walkin, and that's just what they did. I made my way there, to find the hotel and restaurant within to be incredibly posh. Thankfully I was still in my shirt and suit pants from the interview. I approached the receptionist.

"Table for tw--.....one?" she asks.

"Yes ma'am." I nod sullenly. As I'm seated I notice that the tables are full of couples, mostly middle-aged and up, but still I'm struck with a crippling loneliness.

The food makes it worth it though. While I doubt it was indicative of all KC has to offer, I ordered a brisket sandwich and it was, in official food connoisseur terms, 'pretty fuckin good.'

Super 8

Walking back to my hotel, there are very few street lights. Looking up at the night sky, I’m confused to see it’s filled with a bunch of tiny bright things. I Googled it later, and apparently the things are called "stars." #Imfromnewyawk

My hotel itself is a Super 8, which is apparently a huge step up from Motel 6. For starters, I did not contract herpes immediately upon entering my room. The room is actually quite nice, and I’m given a king-sized bed, which only served to remind me of my loneliness given the fact that a king bed is made specifically for the purpose of gettin' it on.

I conclude that many people have probably gotten it on in the bed I’m about to sleep in. I hesitate to get under the covers, and so decide to lay on top of them instead. Then I realize, people have probably gotten it on above the covers just as often as underneath. I move to the floor and come to the same realization, then to the chair, the sink, the toilet, until finally I decide the only safe place to sleep is on the ceiling. I try in vain to get myself up there and finally just get under the covers.

At this point I'm exhausted; from the stress of the interview, from the long car ride, from walking to and from the restaurant, and from my injured shoulder in general. I had also popped a powerful painkiller so I was about ready to knock out. I flip on the TV.

It's PBS. And this video has just started.

Real trippy, and real inspirational. I pass out soon after.

The Return

My flight the next morning is cancelled, and I have to wait 8 hours at the airport for the next one. Eventually I make it home and publish this writeup the next day, completely aware that I’ve changed tenses like 10 times while writing. I will have been too lazy to change it, though.