The Only Bright Spot in this Day Was My Vodou Practicing Cab Driver

Let’s have a quiz. The first person to answer correctly gets to come here and get me right the fuck now.

Okay, here’s the only question on this quiz.

1. Why didn’t the Professor get a frantic hysterical call from me in the Montreal airport?

So, where to start?

First of all, fuck you to the architect who designed the whole steel and glass airy open philosophy of airport building. If I wanted to feel open and airy and like I was just hanging above the earth on a prayer, I’d walk across more fucking bridges.

Second, some dude has my luggage. He’s supposed to come up here and help me get situated in my room. I don’t really need situated in my room. I need to know that there are some god damn elevators in this god damn hotel that don’t have glass backs that open out onto the city scape. How, exactly, am I supposed to get down from here?

I want to drink. I want to drink so much that I am crying. But I can’t charge booze to the job and paying cash would involve leaving this room and I just don’t have the ability.

I hate it here so much and I want to come home right now. Even though it means going back to that god forsaken airport.

I would rather quit my job than have to navigate that fucking elevator again.

The Montreal airport was a nightmare to which I will have to return. I had a breakdown and couldn’t get to Customs. The jackass at Customs was all like “What’s the problem? You’re on the ground.” Well, fuck you, buddy, you’re about two seconds from being on the ground yourself.

This is worse than San Diego.

I don’t know if I can do it.

I just do not fucking know.

Maybe I’ll just stay here until Sunday and then let them call security to carry my ass out of here.

God, what the fuck?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

It doesn’t matter. There’s no point in getting philosophical about it. Whatever the problem is, I’ve got to find a way to work around it. Crying hysterically is not going to work, so I’ve got to do something else. I can’t figure that out, yet, but I will. I’ve got to. I’ve got to get down from here eventually.

10 thoughts on “The Only Bright Spot in this Day Was My Vodou Practicing Cab Driver

  1. *hugs* Oh Aunt B. I wish I could help…

    Unfortunately, the only person I know in Montreal is my ex-boyfriend’s older brother, and he’s in the Army, and thus has to kind of stay in one place. I’d still dispatch him with a quickness if I could manage it.

  2. Many good thoughts are being sent to you exactly where you are.

    And if I were anywhere near you I would make a drink and cardboard delivery. Why cardboard? I’d just tape it on the windows you don’t want in the elevator and tell them tough luck ’cause that was your elevator and that was how it was going to be until you left. You know I love an opportunity to get loud about stuff like that.

    But I can’t, so I’ll keep sending good thoughts and tell el Mathlete he has to do the same thing.

  3. Oh no. Did you call? I am sorry I didn’t answer. I don’t have a missed call from you or a non-local number. If you need to talk, maybe I can call the hotel from campus. I got codes!

    I’m sorry. I don’t remember the open airiness of the airport. I guess I do remember that sort of escalator/ramp, now that I am thinking about your phobia. I should have thought more carefully imagining your eyes rather than mine. I might have been able to prepare you better.

    I can’t fix the hotel. When you get back, we’re making a check list of considerations required for hotel rooms and such. You just need to quickly make a friend who can act as a sort of seeing-eye dog for you to get back down.

    Don’t beat yourself up. It’s a phobia, not a problem with you that you are responsible for and that understanding could fix, not anything that any near decent person would ever hold against you or dislike you for. I think it’s kinda endearing (even though I still can’t seem to remember it often enough to help you before you ask).

  4. Ummm….

    Not to be all “copyKat” on you, but I have a serious problem with fear of heights, especially elevators.

    I know this sounds stupid, but at every hotel I’ve ever stayed with a glass elevator, they’ve allowed me to ride up and down in the service elevator or found me another interior elevator.

    You can call the front desk and ask to speak to the concierge. Simply tell them that you are afraid of heights and didn’t realise the hotel had an aerie elevator. If you don’t mind going up and down with the maids, they don’t usually mind letting you.

  5. I didn’t call. In the middle of my panic, I couldn’t figure out how to work my phone. That was new and fun. I hope it’s just a one time thing because just about the last thing I need is to feel completely out of control AND unable to call for help. That would lead no place fun.

    I’m going to ask the bellhop about it, should he ever show up, considering that I was next door, mysteriously, when he probably tried to drop my bag off the first time.

  6. The 10 mile forced march from the gate to Customs in Montreal is enough to drive anyone a little batty. Find your way to the street by whatever means necessary be it service elevator or waiting until it’s dark and pretending that you’re watching a French movie out the elevator window.

    Then go breathe some foreign air and enjoy some people watching. Montreal is a beautiful city.

    Buck up, little soldier.

  7. Aww, honey, I’m so sorry you’re having this problem. At least the floor of the elevator isn’t a metal grating. I mean, it isn’t, is it? That’s my phobia. Ask me about the time I went into a fetal crouch trying to get off the Staten Island ferry. I hope things start getting better for you soon.

  8. There is a beauty about Montreal (I lived there for about a year.)

    Try to find one thing of loveliness and just concentrate on it. Remember there is just some bad ju-ju messing with you right now. Man, I hate that feeling.

    With two meteor showers and a lunar eclipse, I was told by someone last week it was fucking with me. Maybe this is happening to you as well.
    Breathe again.

    Look out into the city from your window if you can see anything and find one point of light that makes you feel safe. Or think of The Butcher or Mrs. Wigglebottom.

    It will be okay. It will.

  9. in Douglas Adams’ most wonderful (of course) book The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul, right near the start i think, there’s an excellent rant on the idiocy of airport designers in general. i wish i could remember it by heart, but it’s easily good enough to be worth the price of a used paperback. (and the rest of the book is more than worth the price of a brand new paperback, so do check it out. good libraries should certainly have it.)

  10. Aunt B….

    I’m sorry the glass backed variety of elevators scares you…A good friend had this problem…

    I hope that you are able to make friends with the freight elevator.

    Since French is my second language I’ve always wanted to go, but maybe I should rethink that…

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