Mean people in fishtanks.

I'm in some kind of twilight zone state at the moment. I just flew from San Diego to Calgary (which I've been told by some Canadian friends is pronounced Cal GERRY.... Why didn't they just spell it that way.) So I slept something like 3 hours. I got up to catch the LAX transit at 4:50 am. Found out I was way early for my flight. I thought my plane left at 9... when in actuality it only took off at 11:20. Oh happy day... I found myself with many hours to spare for incredible airport entertainment like "spot the weirdo" and "find the toilet." After counting about 200 weird looking people and making my 8th trip to the porcelain haven I decided to settle down for some terminal shut eye (not death... just sleeping in an airport terminal.... lame... anyway.)

So my first impressions of Canada ey!? I could say it was the tall white snow covered mountains, the mooses, moos-i... meese...(damn... whatever they call multiple moose...mooses...meese...!!!!!! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!) It wasn't the snow or the wildlife that "welcomed me" into this fine land. But mister customs man. Or mister immigration man... or whatever they call the beady eyed little individuals who sit in there booths of power deciding the fates of happy holiday makers. The guy I got was mean. The kind of mean that really does send a nervous tingly feeling up your spine, causing the little hairs on the back of your neck to salute. Very intimidating, angry sort of chap with power hungry ambitions to oneday rule the world as a Hitler of all the airport terminals. I tried to say something funny to get him to crack a smile. Apparently airport workers don't have a sense of humour. I decided to stop trying to tickle his funny bone before I found my self naked and bent over in a small white room while he searched for weapons of mass distruction with his little rubber gloves. I was just about to allow my annoyance with the guy to get the better of me when I realized 2 very important things. Firstly.... in that moment he held the power to keep me in a little room for my two week stay or let me into Maple Land. The second thing came out of some twisted place of compassion for this wonderful twit of man. I have come to an epiphany, this cosmic altering revelation. That is: some people are just payed to be mean. They have to be all gruff and horrible and scare the nana out of you just in case you are some kind of bomb strapped to your chest, Flame throwing, stone hurling, knife wielding psycho. If he's not mean... well all sorts slip through cracks. A smile would have been nice from my fellow earth sharing human being, but I understand. He's incredibly interesting life consists of him sitting in a fishtank and marking millions of passports each year with a rubber stamp. Man ! I think I'd be a little bit cranky too. So mister airport guy.... Here's to you... Your meanness was at it's absolute professional best. My hat's of to you Bravo. If nothing else you add a little flavour to life... that flavour may be manure, but none the less it has some kind of taste.... 5 stars for at least trying.

And remember boys and girls next time you meet a mean person, thank them, for it is such magnificent individuals who allow us to take a look at ourselves and realize we're not so bad after all.