Hello Winnipeg (or, Why Pearson Airport Owes Me FIFTY Cents)

We decided to fly from Toronto to Winnipeg because a) we had less than 48 hours from the end of our last Toronto show until our tech in Manitoba; and b) as delicious as the food is in Ignace, it is not worth the 30 hour drive through the scary woods to get there (as any good Moose-fearing Canadian can tell you).

So we flew.

Managing to pack our set into two hockey bags plus a hastily constructed box, we were ready to go. We were also ready for the inevitable questions that would arrive when we attempted to get two stuffed goats through airport security. As far as I knew, the airlines still let you carry simulated livestock as cargo (except maybe Air Canada), but we were ready just in case.

Since we had 5 pieces of luggage (plus our carry-ons) between the two of us, Kris and I needed one of those luggage carts to haul everything from my Dad's car (free ride to the airport!) to the check-in counter. I was weary, at first, since my last experience with the damn carts, but I figured the hassle of not having to lug two hockey bags, a hastily constructed and awkward box, two suitcases, and three pieces of carry-on luggage through the airport was worth $2. Plus, this time I would be sure to get my quarter. Pearson International Airport owed me.

After checking in and doing some quick baggage contents shuffling (because, once again, my suitcase was too heavy), we brought the two hockey bags and hastily constructed box over to Oversize Baggage, where they were scanned before our eyes. And before our eyes, we were asked: "why is there a chain in your bag?"

"It's for the goat," Kris or I said. "To weigh it down."

"Why is there a goat in your bag?"

"It's for a play," I or Kris said, hoping to not be deported to some goat-loving theatre-hating country (although, one could argue we were already there).

We got through (although, we kicked oursleves (ourselfs?) later for not asking for a print out of that x-ray), and brought our empty cart back to its home, in quest for our 25 cents. As Kris shoved it back into position, I placed my hand under the yellow arrow that read "retrieve reward here" and I waited.

Nothing. No quarter.

But wait! The cart wasn't pushed far enough forward. It had to be beyond the red line for the quarter to be won. We pushed, but because of the back-log of carts in the front of the receptacle, it would budge no further. Try as we might, there would be no local calls made from the airport today.

But just as we were about to give up, someone released a cart from the other end! At last! I would have my shiny reward! Kris pushed the cart forward with ease and I triumphantly placed my hand under under the yellow arrow that read "retrieve reward here" and I waited...

Nothing. No quarter.

Expletives were shouted.

An employee, an older gentleman who appeared to have some years on the job, stopped as he was walking by.

"They didn't fill it," he said. "They never fill it."

I stared, incredulous.

"You should write them a letter. This isn't the first time."

It certainly isn't.