Checking in, and checking out

Mrs. Ottawacker and Ottawacker Jr. both out again on their morning bus rides – you can tell the day of his leaving is getting close, there is a bit of clinginess. Not, I hasten to add, from his side. I did some more of the translation, which is better but infinitely more technical.
 
Back home, then out again to the airport as it appeared we had to check in in person, not on line. In addition, we had to provide a letter saying the boy could go, who was meeting him at the airport, what coloured underwear they would have on, and what he was going to be fed for the next two weeks (size, quantity, weight thereof). So, just to make sure we got everything right—and to get it all clear in my own mind—we drove there, parked and went up to the Porter Airlines desk to check him in in person for tomorrow’s flight to Victoria. There, behind the Porter Airlines desk, sat a girl who must have been close to Ottawacker Jr.’s age. She looked very nervous and, when asked to clarify whether we needed to specify what cutlery Ottawacker Jr. would be using to eat the food over the next two weeks, said, quite politely, that she hadn’t got a clue. But she would make a call and find out.
 
This she did. She spent a lot of time on the phone saying things like “Yes” and “Yes” and I see” and “well, of course”, and then hung up and said “we’ll just check him in now, then. Any luggage?” I handed over the letter with all the information we needed. She looked at it and said “well, what is this?” I told her. “Do I need this?” she asked. I was close to saying that I didn’t have a clue but I could make a phone call if she needed, when Mrs. Ottawacker gave me a well-aimed kick on the shin, and I shut up.
 
“Just sign him in,” she said. “That would be lovely. We’ll drop his luggage off tomorrow morning.”
 
Ottawacker Jr. is more than a little excited. It transpires that, aged 12, he can actually get on the plane himself, provided his parents wave him goodbye. So, that is that, then.
 
Back home for a few little last-minute things, then getting ready for a farewell dinner. And then, as is the way of the world, a quick change of heart. A certain soon-to-be-travelling youngster decided he didn’t want steak… so we hopped in the car and headed to O’Brien’s, our local pub, where we had a smorgasbord of various nibbles instead. And very nice it was too.