I woke on the bus to Gatwick, trundled my crap off, and went in to check-in. My flight left in about three hours, and I was excited to be going home. All I needed was my connecting flight from Toronto to Edmonton, and I could bask in the light of familiarity once more.
My flight was delayed to 1315. Don't ever travel with "mytravel" airlines. Not only did they refuse to assist me in making the connection I now had less then an hour for, but they refused to accept responsibility for the late arrival. The 7 hour flight passed by , marked by a feeling of dread and hyperventilation. I only managed to regain control over my panic ridden body by listening to the two kids chatter on next to me. They kept me entertained by such phrases as, "When that was popular, Mr. Clean had an Afro!" and various "three men are walking along a beach/on a plane/eating sandwiches." jokes.
I missed my flight. The second in this trip.
I began to silently weep as I approached the Westjet service counter, anticipating exorbitant expenses.
"Do you have a boarding pass?"
"Yes." *sniff* "It's for three hours ago."
I was swept up in a tide of human generosity.
"Oh you poor thing! We'll get you on the next available flight possible! Don't you worry about a thing!"
*sniff* "I love you."
Not only did I get on a new flight for a very cheap amount, but it happened to be on the flight that Mike was taking home! Once I found him, reading some mystery book on the other side of security, I clung to him, and wept my little face off.
I leeched onto him for the duration of the flight home, and, upon, arrival, leeched onto both him, and my mother, who came to save me from the airport.
I'm home now, and you know what? Europe may be prettier, but Canadians are nicer.