All about Porter, oh yes, and Ottawacker Jr.
I really need to keep up with these blips. I am in a routine of doing them every 2-3 days and who can tell what magical events are slipping my mind? I mean, I might fall over while putting my boxers on or something. And if I forget to say it, will it even have ever happened?
We are still in the middle of a heat event, although at least we were downgraded today from “frying” to “searing”. Best thing to do is work. And, thankfully, I have some of that at the moment. So, while Ottawacker Jr. was taking the 235 to McVey’s Pasture or Tunney’s Quiff or some other weirdly named place, I was translating council minutes and pretending to be interested in what various municipal experts were thinking, as related by a demented francophone minute-taker who may, or may not, have been sitting in a parrot suit and swinging from an imaginary perch. I like to think of these things as I translate, it helps pass the time.
Anyway, I soon had to stop, as I got a notification through from Porter Airlines about Ottawacker Jr.’s upcoming flight to Victoria, BC. It seems as if his plane had been cancelled. Now, you might have somehow understood from the various blips I write that Ottawacker Jr. is fond of his buses and goalkeeping and various other things. You will also know, then, that next to airplanes, these are as nothing. The airplane is the Zeus of his pantheon. And he has been counting down the days to this flight, all neatly crossed off on a home-made calendar, since it was booked a couple of months ago.
Now, in fairness to Porter, they had rebooked him on a different flight. But, as this flight went through Toronto Pearson and left at dawn, we were not keen on it. I am just, JUST about happy for him to catch a plane by himself if people are there to meet him at the other end, but there was no way on God’s green earth that he is going to fly from Ottawa to Toronto, wander around Toronto airport for a couple of hours, and then catch another plane. Not when he is 14, not when he is 15 – and certainly, CERTAINLY not when is 12. So, a phone call had to be made.
Most of my experience with airlines comes in the form of the disastrous company that is Air Canada, so I wasn’t getting on the phone with any sort of jaunty expectations when I dialled the number they gave me in the email. However, I was speaking to Soraya within three minutes, and withing five minutes he had been booked on a direct flight, albeit two days earlier, with effusive apologies, an offer to get a full refund if this wasn’t good enough, and a genuine impression that she was sorry that the flight had been cancelled and I had been inconvenienced. “We’ll make sure we look after him,” she said. Is this normal? Or is Porter Airlines just very good at this customer service lark? Because I have never, ever got off the phone with Air Canada without swearing I would never, ever travel with them again. This is, in a virtual monopoly, impossible… but I may well just give up my Aeroplan points and deal with an airline that treats me like a human being.
Anyway, job done, I got back to some work, breaking off just to do some laundry and other such moments of pleasure. Soon, the day was coming to an end and I had to jostle Ottawacker Jr. so he would get ready for his football match. Today, he was out in Orleans playing the Toronto FC Academy side. We were at Provence, a park I didn’t know, so it was a new experience for me. I did the warm ups with him in the heat and sun, and then sat back to watch the inevitable shellacking.
Except, it didn’t happen. As occasionally happens in dreams, Ottawacker Jr. had turned into a brick wall. He had a superb game, recovered from a studs-up challenge in the first minute to basically stop the opposition single handed. After about 10 minutes, I moved from the sidelines and went to stand behind him in the goal, which is a new experience for me. I prefer, usually, to be away from him, as the last thing I want is to be on his mind while he is supposed to be concentrating on his game. It didn’t bother him – and, in hindsight, I am not surprised. But watching him from close up was an experience in itself. My God, he just never shuts up. His games are 80 minutes long, and he must have talked/shouted/screamed/encouraged for 78 of them. Endless chat. The Internationals won 3-1, and the goal he conceded was a defensive error. He made a good block that went straight to his defender, who then fell over the ball and let the striker have a tap in. But that was it. His best moment came near the end when he saved a penalty, shortly after having made a full-length finger-tips save from a rasping volley. That must be it. That has to be his peak… I mean, if he is impressing his father… So much, in fact, that I took him for an ice cream on the way home. Greater pride hath no father, than he takes his son for an ice cream on the way home from his game.
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