Well, not quite. After a couple of hours, passengers remaining seated for
their safety do not really seem to be all that comfortable. They seem ready to
mutiny! Stewardesses are looking decidedly nervous whenever they walk past.
Finally, relief comes.

“We will be unavoidably detained for several more hours. Passengers may
leave the plane, but may not leave the security area of the terminal. You will find
the backs of your seats recline to permit sleeping.”

“Shit!”

“Oh God, let’s get off this thing right now.”

“I don’t care what he says, I’m going to a hotel.”

“This is all I need. I’m going to have a drink.”

“Me too.”

I’m not all that worried about being the first off. I wonder how these people
would enjoy a five-day bus trip from Regina to Montreal, with seats made of the
scratchiest, itchiest material ever created by man or beast. I remain in my seat until
the discontented have disembarked. I have a smoke. I watch what I can of the
airport activity — which isn’t a lot since my window faces the terminal. It’s late
afternoon. I too am a bit peevish, truth to tell.

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Japanby Morley Evans

November 21, 2000