As the iPod charges...

... I'll take a quick break from nothing to elaborate on yesterday's tweet:
"Ok, so I'm not actually on a plane right now. To answer the inevitable questions: for once it was not Air Canada's fault, but my own", which was the last from my phone-- now prematurely disconnected by Bell-Aliant, a service I arranged previous to my trip because I thought I'd be leaving for the UK by January 4th.

As a 4th year student in Grenfell's Theatre Program, the trip to Harlow is a required part of our degree. We do not, however, always go as a unit. More recently, students who could afford the extra trip have taken to European destinations for new years before beginning the term. Our presiding professor did, however, recommend certain flights to take very early on and, not being able to foresee affording Amsterdam, the latest New Year's destination, I opted to follow his suggested flights and booked without really consulting anyone else. I'm a one-man wolf pack.

Not having a credit card at the time I booked through my sister Dawn. This was payed for and confirmed September 29th, and I spent the next three months anticipating and preparing for a January 4th departing date. 4:10 flight from Deer Lake to Halifax. Whoopee!
I arranged to be done work by then.
I arranged for my phone service to be cut by then until February 26th, my return.
I told my landlord I'd be outta town by then, and moved home the night before, accordingly, to pack like mad.
I was leaving January 4th according to everyone on Twitter and Facebook. I was pumping myself up for the trip to come.

Wake up the morning of Wednesday, January 4th, and all is calm. I have a few things left to throw into the carry-on bag, a few notes to leave behind for the cast of my film 'The Boys', and then I was off. Forecast called for 5cms of snow.

everything was going according to plan. AND THEN

By the time I finished delivering the notes where they would be found, the snow was coming down a little more heavily than anticipated.
Ok, better get on the road a little sooner...

By the time I got home, the roads were in pretty terrible condition. Mother was freaking out a little, and insisting we get on the road sooner than later. I shower, throw on my planned travel gear, and try very quickly to fill the carry-on with my intended items.

Snow gets heavier. Fears rise. As do tensions. Doors are slammed, voices are raise. In the end, though, all passengers are in the mazda and ready to go by 1:30, the pre-ordained time of departure from Corner Brook.

In the meantime, Ma had called Pa to see if my flight was on-time. He was in Deer Lake working, nipped over for a glance at the board, and confirmed it was on-schedule.

We gas up, and leave.
But the highway is not at all pretty. Unplowed. Incredibly slippery ice. Mother is not impressed. Father senses this and opts to meet us halfway in Little Rapids and drive us the rest of the way. The normally 30 minute drive takes us somewhere close to 50, but we arrive safely at the departures gate.

Go inside, line is long. Get at the back of it. Some people tell me I am in the wrong line. Go to the right one, which is thankfully shorter. Wait.

While in the queue up I try with great effort to stuff little odds and knick nacks into what free space is left in the checked baggage. A line grows behind me.

Get to the desk, finally, after so many agonizing hours of apprehension and so many months of excitement. I'm finally going!

I tell the attendant my name is 'Butt', B-U-T-T.
Butt is not on this flight.
Ryan Butt.
...nope, nothing. What flight are you on?
(I check my email...) Triple-eight five for Halifax, final destination Heathrow.
(typing, pause) My love, there's no triple-eight five today (another pause) That's tomorrow.

In retrospect, I have no idea how it could have happened. My sister and I are both very observant people. My Father went to the airport, saw that the flight to Halifax was on-time, and that was enough for me. Never did it occur that we had the date wrong.

In all the times I checked the flight confirmation emails to make sure that 16:10 was the departure time, I never checked to make sure I had the anticipated DATE right.

THE DATE.

I doubt that my face has at any point in my 22+ years been redder.

The attendant made a quip about how excited I must be to get going, printed off my itenirary, and sent me on my way.

Upon checking with Dawn, she is as dumbfounded as I am. As I drive home, again in the storm, she checks old emails and digs up the initial forward from my prof, telling us that the only best available date to fly Hali-Heath was the 5th. So that's what was booked, from the beginning.

For the last three months I have been living a very foolish lie.



I wake up this morning. Make breakfast. Fix the packing problems I'd been so stressed to do in a rush yesterday. Watch a bit of 'Sherlock'. Dad drives me to the airport. I'm a full 2 hours early and, as it happens, manage to make an earlier flight to Halifax because of this example of over-punctuality. Today's attendant quickly changes my luggage tags, I bag the hiking pack, and run to make the flight. Empty pockets, skip through security, re-dress, and run to the gate...

...where yesterday's quipy attendant recognizes me from the day before.

"Here you were yesterday ready to go, now you're late! (newfie-nod)Tsk tsk, my goodness..."

See you later, Newfoundland.