I sat out the power failure in Ontario at the top
of the LaHave River in Nova Scotia, where I had been enduring
unending fog and rain for weeks. Fortunately, I have an office out
here and it turns out laptops work better in the fog than picnic
baskets.
This is the Nova Scotia I remember as a kid; wet
and dismal except for the smell of seaweed, the allure of the ocean
and the good cheer of the people.
This kind of weather, which I have not seen much
of in the last few years, can make or break a holiday.
Contrasted with the fires on the West Coast, and
the drought and heat in Europe, it is a walk in the park.
On Wednesday Aug. 13th the sun came out. I threw
a tarp over the computer and we headed for the beach. No radio or
TV or newspapers for 48 hours or so. It came as something of a
shock to check in with my office late Friday in Toronto to discover
this number is no longer in service. That was my first clue. The
second was a voicemail from Sudbury indicating that against all
odds we got the paper out late Friday and everything was going to
be fine.
What a difference a couple of days can
make?
I was booked to fly back to Ontario on Sunday. It
was strange to contemplate a return to a land paralyzed without
power.
The first question was could Air Canada be any
worse in a power failure than not?
I calculated it could not, and so prepared myself
in the usual ways for my departure.
The first thing I do is recite my AC mantra. I
have no control over Air Canada or Pearson International
Airport.
They may send my luggage to Lloydminster, they
may use four gates before settling on the final departure exit,
they might take me hostage on the tarmac for hours, they may land
me in a different city, they could lose my luggage entirely, they
might try to de-ice me in July, but they cannot steal my soul or
poison me with peanuts because they do not have them anymore.
My first precaution is never to call them.
It is too painful.
I would rather drive two hours to the Halifax
International Airport and be told at the airport the flight is
cancelled than actually call Air Canada to see what is happening. I
do not think I even need to explain this to you.
Being contrarian I thought it might be fun to fly
into an airport strewn with sweaty people sleeping on the floor,
toasting marshmallows on candles and making new friends.
I was prepared for the worst and determined to
enjoy it.
Then the strangest thing happened.
First, I did not have to wait in what looked like
an ugly line managed by the lucky Air Canada employees who had not
been laid off the week before in the middle of summer high traffic
season.
I used the express check-in system and it worked.
They knew who I was, which flight I was leaving on, and
which seat I had booked. I thought it was some
kind of cruel joke and kicked the stand to make sure it was not
trying to lure me into a screaming match at security where they
would send me back to the beginning of the line for being
optimistic and believing the computer when it said I could carry
two bags onto the flight.
I got through without being stripped naked or
being forced to open my umbrella (which I consider to be an unlucky
thing to do before an airline flight) and found myself at the gate
a full hour before departure.
What to do?
I sat in stunned silence clutching my roast beef
sandwich and bottle of water, which I had provisioned in case I
showed up at an airport unknown to me after the Tim Hortons had
closed or the generator died.
But nothing happened. It was eerie. We boarded on
time. After about an hour in the air I released the sandwich
from my grip.
As I walked through Pearson Airport the most
noticeable impact of the chaos was the complete lack of junk food
at newsstands, which seemed a relatively small price to pay for
risking life and limb.
I know this emergency really happened because the
Sudbury City Hall stayed closed all week to conserve energy.
Everybody else seemed to be at work, including me.
Sometimes its better to be lucky than
smart.
