Posted by As soon as I received my contract to go to Ottawa and participate in the Bluesfest’s 2023 Blues In The Schools program I started scouting itineraries and booked an Air Canada flight that had me returning home on Friday, March 10th. Getting from my final afternoon gig to the airport in time for a 4pm departure would be a bit tight, plus it was a three-flight milk run that didn’t get in to St. John’s until well after midnight, but after two weeks of couchsurfing I figured it would be worth it to get home on Friday night rather than taking one of the many flights available on Saturday morning.
And then the very next day the flawed god of Air Canada flight changes tossed her dice in my favour and I received notice that one of my return flights had been changed, and would I like to accept the pre-emptive change or click this button to see my other options? I clicked the button and lo, it seemed that I could now select from any number of Air Canada flights returning on any day I liked.
Oh, I “liked” all right! In fact I liked returning on Saturday. To be specific I liked returning on a two-flight bullet that would get me back to Newfoundland comfortably in the middle of Saturday afternoon. Well in time to dine at any number of Townie restaurants where I could regale m’lady with my gushing review of the Bill Frisell show.
(Alas, if only it t’were to be!)
So I grabbed a GA ticket for around $40 and messaged everyone in Ottawa that I was going to the Frisell show and just like that half the people I knew also bought GA tickets. This was going to be great! I went up to Ottawa and stayed with my buddy Doug and his partner Michelle. He and I did a fantastic job playing for and with a bunch of kids at a bunch of schools, on our off-hours I got out and did a gajillion things with as many people as I could, and on the final day I dusted off my hands with a job well done, packed my bags, cracked open a beer and waited for 7pm to arrive. The plan was for Doug and Michelle and I to call a cab at seven o’clock so we could get to The Bronson Centre way before the show started. I was looking forward to clinking glasses with a legion of friends and musical associates so I was eager to maximize my time at the venue.
I think it was right around 6pm or so when the email came: my Saturday morning flight had been pre-emptively cancelled due to a storm that was forecast to envelope St. John’s the following afternoon. I was mid-conversation with Michelle when the message about my flight change hit my inbox, asking if I would like to accept their proffered flight change or click here for more options. Chat, chat, chat…I notice the new flight they were offering me would have me boarding at 6pm and arriving at midnight. Not ideal but whattya going to do? Chat, chat, chat…I hovered my cursor over the “Accept” button and was about to click it…
…When my consciousness suddenly cut through the idle jabber and noticed that the flight I was about to accept was departing on Monday, not Saturday! My heart sank. Now I wasn’t going to get home until Monday? Other options! Other options!!!
I clicked feverishly and waited for the page to load while Michelle kept talking about her upcoming birthday party. Countless St. John’s flights had just been cancelled which meant that hundreds of people were rebooking right now so time was of the essence. With the tv babble and the beers and the conversation and the panic it became rather difficult to focus…the page finally loaded and displayed my choices…now Monday was no longer available but there were lots of flights on Tuesday and a single flight on Sunday night…flights were disappearing before my eyes and the tv and the chat, chat, chat…I stuck my fingers in my ears and tried to think…then I made a snap decision…
Tragically, I folded under the pressure. I’d noticed that there was still one flight scheduled on Saturday, leaving just forty-five minutes after my initial flight had been scheduled to depart. My eyes widened in amazement and I clicked it with a flurried rush. I could hardly believe my luck when the screen confirmed my new booking!
As I was confirming the details my brain caught up with the sinking feeling that had entered my soul. “Hey,” said my brain. “If they are pre-cancelling all the flights arriving in St. John’s tomorrow then obviously this flight is going to get cancelled too…” And then my email went “ping!” and just like that my new flight was cancelled too; I was back to panicking. “Oooh…maybe you’ll get to stay for my birthday party after all!” Michelle squealed with glee. There was an information lag which meant that my Air Canada account was not yet registering the new cancellation, so I was powerless until the official cancellation email arrived and offered me a new flight. When it did, I discovered that I was now scheduled to depart on Thursday. By this time it was well past 7pm. I got on the phone with Air Canada’s on hold loop and convinced Doug and Michelle to go to the Bill Frisell show without me.
“Once I get someone on the line and get this worked out I’ll hop in a cab,” I told them. “Hopefully I won’t be too late.” It felt like a lie. I didn’t actually have much hope of getting to the concert at all.
I lulled for about forty minutes in the relative silence of on-hold jazz before being reminded that m’lady and I are in possession of a secret magical Air Canada phone number*. I hung up and called m’lady, she sent me the number and less than a minute later I was speaking with the most helpful, perky Air Canada representative you could imagine. During our brief conversation I let it slip that I was currently late for a concert and he went into turbo-mode. In mere moments I was rebooked on a flight departing Tuesday morning. Had I just accepted the first option I would have been getting home a day earlier, but in the moment it felt like a win. I hung up the phone, dialled a cab and raced out the door. If the show had started late then maybe I could catch the last half…
When I ran into the venue I found the foyer completely empty; no security, no ticket-takers, no ushers, nuthin’. When I opened the heavy wooden door to the darkened theatre Bill Frisell’s relaxed, mediative tone hit me like a ton of feathers. I gingerly stepped inside. The place was packed and you could hear a pin drop. I started to my left and immediately a hand reached out and grabbed my arm. Whattya know, it was Wayne Eagles and Dave Schroeder, along with Doug and Michelle, all lined up against the back wall. I gave everyone a silent wave and leaned against the wall, trying to enjoy what show there was left to enjoy.
Bill was up there wearing his obligatory Telecaster. He was flanked by drummer Kenny Wollesen to his left and bassist Tony Scherr to his right. The music was undeniably sublime and very, very relaxed, though I was anything but either. It was all I could do to let the slow, tortured panic of the previous four hours dissipate from my skandhas but with Frisell’s help it happened. By the end of the impossibly drawn out melodic jam of eternal emptiness my soul had been cleansed. My friend Stephanie happen to walk by aimed at the otherwise-empty bar so I followed her and ordered a Jack and Coke. Nevermind that I had to settle for Crown Royal, in the circumstances I was happy to get what I could get.
Bill had indeed started his show right on time at eight o’clock, so when he closed with a (What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love, and Understanding encore I had only heard about a half-hour of music, but you know, it was enough. Sure, I wish I had caught the whole thing and now that I live on an island in the North Atlantic Ocean who knows when I’ll see him again? But it was enough. It was thirty minutes of gorgeously meditative music and I’ll take it.
(The following evening m’lady told me that Air Canada had opened up a bunch of new flights. I called the magic number** and in mere moments I was rebooked for a flight departing so early on Sunday morning that I had to go straight to bed the moment I got off the phone. Just before I went to sleep I was reminded that the clocks were supposed to jump ahead by an hour in the middle of the night. Had I not been told to adjust my alarm I would have missed the flight. Oh, the tears of frustration I would have shed…)
*Do not under any circumstances ask me for this number. I WILL NOT give it to you, and if you insist that I give it to you then we won’t be friends anymore.
**Don’t even think about it.
Todd Man Out 