(sorry to be so delayed. I’ll try to be once a week hereafter.)
Montreal is no longer on the bottom of my list of airports. Toronto is.
When I ordered wheelchairs at Montreal, we got them and wowwee! We had a ride through the whole airport at top speed.
In Toronto, one wheelchair showed up at the door to the airplane. So Bernie got in and I said, let’s go. (We had a plane to catch, after all.)
Bernie was wheeled into an open area with many others, mostly elderly Asians. More of every variety kept coming on the motorized buggies airports use. A very irritable man was in charge. He kept track of everyone and got them their wheelchairs.
But, poor creatures, they didn’t know much English, or French. One man kept waving his declaration–the one you need to get through customs–: are you carrying any handguns? fruit? hashish? And the irritable man kept saying, I can’t fill that out. You do.
We did get someone to push Bernie through baggage claim, get a trolley for same baggage, through customs, stop at the men’s room, get us into the one lane checking through inspection for all a huge terminal. Too excited, I forgot to pull out my computer and my bottle of water. Everything stopped. I cursed to myself and apologized. I think. Then to Gate 34.
Then I couldn’t find my ticket. Wait, said the agent. OK. Omygod. Nope, she just printed another one.
And then the rental car guy… Never mind. I don’t mind driving off in a car with no gas. Do you?