Vancouver International Airport, British Columbia (YVR)
In spite of everything, this will be a triumphant airport entry. In spite of the fact that for possibly the
first time in our friendship, Stuart made me angry, this will be a triumphant
airport entry. In spite of my pain,
exhaustion, and over expenditures, this will be a triumphant airport
entry. The trip was a success. I set out to do 3 things, and I was able to
check all 3 off of my list. Stuart and I
had fun, in spite of everything. I am
very mellow. It takes very little for me
to form a negative opinion of someone or to get internally annoyed at them,
but, to get me angry, to get me to lash out beyond a sarcastic retort or sharp
word, that takes a lot. There are really
only four ways to do it. The first is to
accuse me of doing something that I did not and to stick to it after my full
denial. The second is to break a deal or
lie to me about something that matters.
The third is to go out of your way to initially get me angry or
annoyed. The last is to ask me for help
and then refuse it when I offer it. The
last was what Stuart did.
I identified
the two things about Stuart that annoy me, and they both have to do with the
fact that he never shuts up. The first
is that he is constantly complaining, and his negativity sours the atmosphere,
turning my joy into ash. The second is
that he keeps asking inane and annoying questions when I just want to relax in
silence. He claims that he only does it
when he’s tired and in order to keep himself awake, but he is always tired on
our trips, since he keeps himself up until 3 AM, and I like to get the day
started by 7 AM. I have learned how to
deal with it, mostly by just ignoring him until he shuts up, but the poor clerk
at the cigar store did not have that option, instead acting as his personal
concierge for the hour or so I had my cigar.
I almost wanted to apologize to the guy.
I didn’t care. Stuart had an FQ
of 0.1, while the clerk had an FQ on par with the 7 billion people I previously
told to go fuck themselves.
We easily
walked back to the stadium, mostly by just following the throngs of people
coming FROM the stadium. We took our
pictures and then headed to the garage.
Stuart had parked in a very awkward spot, and, after I repacked my bags,
he needed help with me guiding him out of the spot. I readily obliged, telling him to back up to
the right as sharply as possible. He
went to the left. Okay, an honest
mistake. Then, he tried again, this time
just cutting it at 50% when I had told him to go 100%. Now I was starting to get annoyed. He got out of the spot but was facing the
wrong direction. I told him to back down
the ramp and then turn in the right direction.
He refused to listen to me, insisting I was wrong and going the opposite
direction. This finally got me angry,
and I shouted at him, asking him why he wanted my help if he wasn’t going to
listen. I got back in the car and told
him that, if he wasn’t going to listen to me, he could do it himself. I didn’t care if he damaged the car. It was under his name, his card. He managed, taking more time than he would
have if he had listened to me.
From
there, we headed to the airport, stopping for gas along the way. It was almost two hours before my scheduled
departure when he dropped me off at the Delta entrance. I then saw a sign that Delta check-in was at
the international counters, quite a trek away (and back). Ugh. I
had time. Oh, I forgot to mention that
we split a Tim Horton’s donut, which I couldn’t leave Canada without having,
Atkins or no Atkins. When I checked in,
it said that I had a first class upgrade pending. That would be a real boon. The gate was a D Gate, which was where the
true international flights. My suspicion
was confirmed that I would be doing Customs on Arrival instead of
preclearance. A mild annoyance, since I
declare an international trip complete upon clearing Customs, so I would have
to formally close the trip back in New York.
Security also had quite a long line, my SkyPriority not meaning anything. All of this was increasing my irk level. They told me I could only take one lighter,
even with traditional flames, so I sacrificed the one I bought in
Kotzebue. Duty-free was next, so I
picked up a bottle of Small Batch Canadian Club.
I was also quite starving at this point, but,
if I was first class, they would feed me.
I didn’t want to waste money on food if I was going to get fed, but I
couldn’t wait another couple of hours. There
was a Chinese/Japanese place. In fact,
there was a very high concentration of Asians in the concourse, even the
duty-free being staffed entirely by Asians.
I suppose that this is Canada’s gateway to Asia. The selection was quite limited, and the
orange chicken was most appealing, but the woman in front of me got the last
portion. I asked if they had any more
chicken? They did not. Did they have any more anything? They did not.
Fed up, I headed to my gate. I
checked to see if my upgrade was confirmed.
It was not, which meant no free meal.
I opted for a Quest bar. I then
sat down at the gate and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close
as boarding is starting.
People often ask why I travel alone. The answer is that
most people who might travel with me or could afford to travel with me would
not do the trips I want to do. Stuart is
amenable to them, but he pisses the hell out of me. I have learnt to dealt with him, and I’m
really the only one who will travel with him his way. On a whole, I enjoy taking our annual trip
together, even if he pisses me off more often than not. It is a trade I make, and the trade is
mutually beneficial. That is not about
what friendship is. It is merely a
mutually beneficial relationship. When I
do things for him, it is not because I enjoy seeing him happy, but rather
because I don’t want to hear him bitch and moan. That is not friendship. That is serving my self-interest of quiet and
relaxation. When we laugh and joke
around and pull pranks, that is not friendship either. Alright, I definitely need to close for real
now, as my group was just called.
8/11/14
En route, NYC Airporter 602
Once I arrived at the gate, the rest of The Journey Home was
uneventful. Just as I did on the inbound
flight, I made the mistake of taking the front exit row instead of the back
exit row. The front exit row does not
recline, so I cannot fully enjoy the extra legroom without being able to lean
back. Even still, I fell asleep as soon
as we were airborne and slept through until we made our approach. I might have gotten more sleep on the plane
than I got any night this trip. When we
landed, the walk to the Customs checkpoint probably took me longer than the
whole process of going through the Global Entry kiosk and walking out the
gate. There was a huge line to clear
baggage control, but I was able to breeze right past it with my Global Entry
receipt. The line for the taxi was
rather long, and I figured that the wait for the Airporter bus would be
shorter. I was right. I suppose the total travel time by taxi would
have made up for it, but it wasn’t worth the difference in price for those few
minutes.
In fact, it might even be more
comfortable on the bus. I am in the back
most seat, and the seat in front of me folds down for use as either a leg rest
or a desk. I would not have that luxury
in a taxi. I am very much looking
forward to a hearty breakfast, but it’s just not the same when I make the
microwaved eggs and bacon as when I get it from Lunch Box. Sure, it’s about half the price, but,
still. I’ll probably have Chinese for
lunch. Alright, I’m rambling. Maybe Stuart should start one of these. That way he can right down every inane
thought that comes into his mind rather than subject me to a constant barrage
of questions and unformed thoughts. If
he would actually take the time to put together a rational and coherent
thought, it wouldn’t be so bad. Instead,
he just says stuff that makes no sense.
I am able to answer almost every question he has, about everything. If I cannot, I make one up. He doesn’t care what the answer is. He just cares that he gets an answer and then
forgets it.
I suppose that is a reason
why our relationship works so well. In
almost any situation, in a friendship, in a relationship, I need to be the one
in charge, unless I am choosing to defer to someone whose judgment I value above
my own. My boss is the perfect example
of the latter. When I bring in a
proposal to him, more often than not, he gives it back to me with either no
change or just a formatting change. The
other times, he tells me to raise or lower the price. I usually make the change without question,
but sometimes I disagree, and, when I do, he takes my judgment into
consideration. In those cases, he’ll
usually tell me to stick with my number or choose a number in between. It’s about respect and trust. With Stuart, the trust is there, but the
respect is not. When I say trust, I mean
trust in honesty, not trust in ability (see my entry on Trust from the CA-4
trip). I make the decisions because I
trust in myself more than I trust in him, and he knows that I’m better at this
kind of stuff. I also make the more
minor decisions. Just as I give him to
him to avoid hearing him bitch and moan, he gives in to me on the things that
matter to me. It is a trade.
He even had me plan the two weeks of his trip
that he will do after I left and wanted me on the phone while he booked the
hotels. For the first few nights, I
helped him pick one out. After that, I
just put him on speaker and agreed with whatever he wanted. I wasn’t going to be staying there. I didn’t care. The “I don’t care” factor applies a lot to
Stuart, and that is why our relationship, while friendly, might not be
categorized as true friendship. At
first, it didn’t appear that his GPS would work in Canada, and he has no sense
of direction, nor did he want to spend money to use international data. I had visions of him making the wrong turn
and winding up in Whitehorse before he realized that something was wrong. I told him that, since he couldn’t text, I’d
be glad not to receive 17 texts from him that he got lost and wound up at the
North Pole. Anyway, I fucked up my
injured foot hiking at North Cascades NP, and I cut up the back of my hand
moving the mattress outside in Victoria, but the trip was glowing success, in
spite of everything. After I got on the
bus, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close as we cross the
tunnel into the tiny island I call home.
Next stop: right back to the PNW in two weeks to see my brother in
Portland.
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