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.