AARP Travel, Powered by Expedia, is nothing if not efficient in determining how and where its users might want to travel. The surprise I got while searching for deals for Jon was a package offer for a deal on flights from Palm Springs to Toronto for less than the cost of Toronto to Palm Springs flights, which came complete with a 30% three-night hotel stay discount.
Jonny loved the idea. He would finish his final 4th Class certification exam in Owen Sound the morning of July 30 and I would arrive later that evening in Toronto, stay five nights, thereby securing the lower rate and giving us plenty of time to explore the city, among other things, together.
Thus began nine days of furious preparation. Jonny wouldn’t be able to chat as often as usual, as it was crunch time in terms of preparing for his exam, and I needed to prepare for the trip.
Griselda furiously started trying to remember where I’d stored my passport when setting up the apartment.
“You might also want to give some thought as to whether or not it’s still valid,” said Brain rather solemnly.
Griselda and I stopped searching and stared at each other quizzically.
“When did you last use it?” she asked with a hint of panic in her voice.
“Ah, ah,” I struggled vainly trying to remember when suddenly it came to me. “Summer of 07,” I blurted out! “When John [my previous long term relationship] and I took that Mediterranean gay cruise for his 50th birthday.”
“Oh yes,” Brain said, “that’s the one with all the bitchy circuit queens that nearly ruined the whole trip, wasn’t it?” I ignored him.
“Fifteen minus seven,” I began calculating, “that’s six, seven, eight… just eight years ago. It should still be valid,” I exclaimed triumphantly!
I finally found the damn thing buried in a box along with a sheath of other semi-legal papers and miscellaneous documents from my former home office now stored in one half of my bedroom closet.
With only so much of my accident settlement mad money left and little more than my unemployment insurance payment checks to cover things like my rent, I spent the next few days, in addition to job hunting on the web, bouncing around the Coachella Valley seeking out bargains for carry-on size rolling travel bags, a couple of new shirts and 3 oz. travel size bottles in which to carry the personal lotions and oils I hoped might be necessary during my trip.
Thus began nine days of furious preparation.
Palm Springs International Airport was roughly three blocks down the street from my apartment, so close, in fact, you couldn’t get a cab to pick you up for the short trip, and driving my car less than a mile and paying for airport parking seemed all too ridiculous as well.
A predawn hike to make my 6:00 am check-in it would have to be, which in August can still be a balmy 80+ degrees.
“Here’s an intriguing little bit of information you might be interested in,” Brain said the evening before my departure while focusing my attention on my travel itinerary. “You’re not just going to Toronto for the first time in your life, but Montreal as well.”
Sure enough, so happy and excited was I at the prospect of spending a weekend with Jonny in Toronto I hadn’t really paid that much attention to finer points of my itinerary.
“PSP [Palm Springs International Airport] to LAX [Los Angeles International Airport],” that’s not unusual,” I said as I began to read the following day’s schedule of flights aloud. “LAX to YUL [Montréal–Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport] and YUL to YTZ [Toronto Billy Bishop City Airport].”
Not only was I about to get a grand sixteen hour air terminal tour of southeastern Canada but I would be spending nearly as much time on the ground in Los Angeles and Montreal awaiting connecting flights as I would in the air.
“I thought the Toronto airport was called Pearson,” Griselda said.
“So did I,” I said as I began an internet search for Toronto Billy Bishop City Airport, which turns out to be a commuter airport located on a small island in Lake Ontario just a few yards offshore from downtown Toronto, some fifteen miles away from the “airport” hotel I booked for the weekend.
Jonny called and told me he was taking the evening before the exam off to clear his mind. I filled him in on my newly discovered itinerary details. He was not thrilled at the prospect of having to drive into downtown Toronto to meet a plane that may or may not arrive on time.
I wished him good luck on his exam, he wished me a safe journey, and we said goodnight.
“I’ve checked,” I told him, “and there are several flights directly from LAX to Pearson with seats still available. When I check in for the first leg of the trip, I’ll see how much it might cost to switch to one of those flights.” Knowing phones would not be permitted in the exam room the following morning, I added, “and if I get one, I’ll text you the new details.”
I wished him good luck on his exam, he wished me a safe journey, and we said goodnight.
It was Oh-Dark-Thirty, well five a.m. actually, when the alarm went off on my phone the following morning. Even so, thanks to the three-hour time difference, there was a thumbs up selfie on my phone of Jonny at breakfast, wishing me a good morning, and better travel karma than he’d had flying to out to Palm Springs.
I dragged my still sleepy ass down the road to PSP and waited to check-in at the ticketing counter for a boarding pass. For some strange reason my travel package did not permit online check-in.
It appeared to be taking an inordinate amount of time for the agent to process passengers. When it was my turn to check in I discovered the slow-down was due to a breakdown in communications with the airline’s reservations center.
I decided, instead of further delaying the frazzled ticketing agent, I’d investigate possible flight changes with the agent at my departure gate.
I next prepared to wait in line, strip down, remove my computer from its carry-on bag and throw all the contents of my pockets into bins and face the TSA. I was surprised to discover my boarding pass had been marked PRE, which meant I could virtually walk right up to the screening area, keep my shoes on, and my computer in the bag.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Griselda, Brain, and I agreed.
The gate agent for my flight was very helpful. “I’ll be happy to see if we can book you on a more direct flight,” she said before cautioning me it might take a few extra minutes as the computers were still down and she would have to call the reservation center directly.
“Yes, yes there are seats available,” on an earlier LA to Toronto flight she told me.
“How much will it cost?” I asked while calculating I would be willing to spend up to five hundred dollars to arrive nearly six hours earlier just a short drive away from my hotel.
“I’ll ask,” the charming lady said as she returned to her conversation with the reservations center.
“It will be sixteen hundred dollars for an economy class seat,” she said without batting an eye.
“Thank you no,” I said rather sheepishly, “I think I’ll pass.”
“He’d rather not spend that much,” the gate agent told the reservations center.
I stood by waiting for her to end the call so that I might thank her properly, but she appeared to still be involved in the conversation about my itinerary.
“No I don’t have it,” the agent said while examining her terminal. “I thought when you read it out you had it?
“I can’t bring it back up all I have is local data. I can’t log in, that’s why I called you.”
They muttered back and forth for a few more minutes before ending the call. After hanging up, the gate agent took my PSP, LAX, and YUL boarding passes, threw them in the trash and began typing vigorously. Before I knew it, I had two new ones and my itinerary now read PSP to LAX and LAX to YYZ [Toronto Pearson International Airport].
With great trepidation I told the gate agent “But I can’t afford to pay $1,600 dollars.”
“There is no charge,” she told me adding under her breath and with a bit of sly wink, “They lost your original reservation to Montreal,” which meant the airline had to give me a seat on another flight, and apparently more people wanted to go to Montreal than Toronto that weekend.
Edited by
Kenneth Larsen
Next Up: Welcome To Toronto
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Nice story, lucky turn of events with your flight.