Taxi
Friday, March 11th, 2005“… Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened as we taxi to the gate.” I couldn’t sit any longer. The flight from New York’s LaGuardia airport was only an hour and a half. Yet it felt like I’ve been on that airplane for hours. With a splitting headache, I grimaced and cringed at each bump and vibration as the plane made its way to the gate. To say I was nauseous would have been an understatement.
I don’t normally get dizzy on flights, but this was an exceptional flight. The final appraoch to Pearson International Airport was bumpy. The air inside the plane was stale. I hadn’t had anything to eat, aside from a chocolate bar, and a bottle of sprite since ten o’clock in the morning and it’s already seven thirty in the evening.
Perhaps it was the hunger. Or perhaps it was the taxi ride to the airport. It was four o’ clock and our taxi driver drove as if he had 3 minutes to get to the airport. Well, he had more than that, three hours to be exact since our flight wasn’t leaving until eight o’clock. He didn’t believe in gradually putting the vehicle to a halt. Every time he hit the brakes it was like hitting a wall. I wobbled out of that taxi ride looking like I had too much to drink (which I don’t since I don’t drink intoxicating drinks).
Two taxi rides, one on a yellow cab, another in a flying machine… both were as far from enjoyable as one could ever get.
-- Posted in Journal