Really?

I know I seem to start a log of blogs with "Really ?", but that's because much of what I encounter is mind-boggling -- at least to me.  Apparently, those who inspire my "Really?" headings think their behaviour perfectly normal. 

Take the woman seated next to me on a flight to Montreal last weekend.  She kept asking the stewardess (excuse me, flight attendant) to fill up her GIGANTIC water bottle with (free) ice.  "Can I have some ice," she asked, every time the beleaguered attendant was within earshot.  Lady, this is a plane with a few hundred people on board so ice is at a premium.  Why you think it should all be given you several times over takes a lot of nerve.  I mean, water is water and one doesn't need to add ice to be hydrated. 

But this "dyed-blonde" had nerve.  In spades.

The first time she asked, the attendant had to leave her cart -- and postpone the wine she was serving me -- to retreat to the back of the plane to get some cubes.  But these were not nearly enough for this jerk.  "Could you get me some more?" she actually asked.  Unbelievably, the attendant did?!  The rest of us were waiting to give Air Canada money while she bugged everyone for effing ice.  What do I always say?  When a woman dyes her hair blonde, she morphs into an entitled "dyed blonde".   

All the while, the rest of us were waiting for our treats.  I hate to say it (actually, I don't), but this woman was young-ish and fat and thus generally repulsive to me.  For some reason, I think fat people should stay quiet and not make outlandish demands.  My seat-mate evidently missed this etiquette class.

West of Montreal, where I reside, there is nothing like Montreal.  Come to think of it, east of Montreal there is nothing like Montreal.  Montreal is unique.  I felt perfectly comfortable strolling through the lobby of the beautiful Hotel Bonaventure dressed to the nines; in Calgary I feel like a freak.  On the down side, Montreal's infrastructure is a disaster.  Overpasses are crumbling everywhere and have merely been precariously patched at the joints.  Won't be long before one crashes onto the cars beneath and people are killed -- in fact it has already happened in a couple of cases.  What the eff is mayor Coderre spending the money on? 

The visit prompted vivid memories of 45 years ago, when I worked as a journalist for Maclean-Hunter and travelled there many times from Toronto on business in my twenties with colleagues and my publisher.  Back then, everyone smoked everywhere-all-the-time -- including me -- and everyone drank everywhere-all-the-time -- including me.  We always stayed at the Bonaventure, still a marvellous engineering feat, with the top two floors serving as the hotel part of a downtown convention centre, complete with an inner courtyard of ponds, lagoons and ducks.

You would never know you were 15 floors up in downtown Montreal.   

We were there for a dinner honouring new and past members of the 'Garnet Key Society', an honour society of which B was an early member.  This was the 60th Key; B was in the fifth.  Never mind, we were seated at the vice-chancellor's table and I think I impressed him with my story of having attended a lecture by the great Northrop Frye, a brilliant man my tablemate had not met in person.  (I would refer you to my blog about this great man, but I can't find it.)  Anyway, Frye changed the direction of my life and made me a writer. 

Farewell Montreal, until the next time.