Long, Long Time
10:53 AM - 1:00 PM
I was startled-more jostled- awake by the landing, buzz still intact.
Thank God.
I stowed my headphones away and winked at the stewardess, who was so kind as to stash more mini-bottles of alcohol in my carry-on.
“Your captain here, it's currently 10:53 in the morning, local time. I would like to thank you for your patience as we did experience some heavy turbulence and arrived late at our destination, Pearson International. Those connecting to London proceed to Terminal 6. Thank you again for flying with Canadian Airlines and I wish everyone a wonderful weekend and I hope to see you flying with us soon,” The phantom, hollow voice echoed creepily through the empty cabin.
With a slipping on of the sunglasses and a straightening of the suit, I was off. I casually slung my duffel bag over my shoulder and walked through the airport. Everyone told me they knew I was going to be a star by the way I carried myself. My walk, my posture, just seemed to exude a confidence that just screamed “NHL Superstar.” Or it could be the designer suit with the oversized superstar sunglasses. I guess that's why I got through customs so fast. Well, that and the fact that my passport happens to say:
Steven Stamkos
Born: February 7, 1990
Markham, Ontario, Canada
“Welcome home, Mr. Stamkos. We're all rooting for you, ya know,” The customs officer glowed with pride as he stamped my passport.
“I'll keep that in mind-” I glanced at his name tag, “Kevin.” I strode through airport with a pep in step. The thought of seeing Carly again and being able to rub into her face that I made it entered my mind. Maybe this wedding was a good idea...
I made it. And she was stuck in Unionville, probably bartending at Bodington's or waitressing at Auntie May's Diner. Most likely both, I chuckled inwardly at the thought of Carly wearing the '50s style uniform during the day and the white spaghetti strap top and black short-shorts at night.
I'm the one who's going to get the last laugh.
With a wide grin, I waved down a taxi, “143 Peachtree Road, Wild Horses Country Club, and step on it, will you. I'm already late for my sister's wedding,” I took off my sunglasses and looked into the mirror, straightening my tie and smirking with the thought.
I'll have the last laugh.
Thank God.
I stowed my headphones away and winked at the stewardess, who was so kind as to stash more mini-bottles of alcohol in my carry-on.
“Your captain here, it's currently 10:53 in the morning, local time. I would like to thank you for your patience as we did experience some heavy turbulence and arrived late at our destination, Pearson International. Those connecting to London proceed to Terminal 6. Thank you again for flying with Canadian Airlines and I wish everyone a wonderful weekend and I hope to see you flying with us soon,” The phantom, hollow voice echoed creepily through the empty cabin.
With a slipping on of the sunglasses and a straightening of the suit, I was off. I casually slung my duffel bag over my shoulder and walked through the airport. Everyone told me they knew I was going to be a star by the way I carried myself. My walk, my posture, just seemed to exude a confidence that just screamed “NHL Superstar.” Or it could be the designer suit with the oversized superstar sunglasses. I guess that's why I got through customs so fast. Well, that and the fact that my passport happens to say:
Steven Stamkos
Born: February 7, 1990
Markham, Ontario, Canada
“Welcome home, Mr. Stamkos. We're all rooting for you, ya know,” The customs officer glowed with pride as he stamped my passport.
“I'll keep that in mind-” I glanced at his name tag, “Kevin.” I strode through airport with a pep in step. The thought of seeing Carly again and being able to rub into her face that I made it entered my mind. Maybe this wedding was a good idea...
I made it. And she was stuck in Unionville, probably bartending at Bodington's or waitressing at Auntie May's Diner. Most likely both, I chuckled inwardly at the thought of Carly wearing the '50s style uniform during the day and the white spaghetti strap top and black short-shorts at night.
I'm the one who's going to get the last laugh.
With a wide grin, I waved down a taxi, “143 Peachtree Road, Wild Horses Country Club, and step on it, will you. I'm already late for my sister's wedding,” I took off my sunglasses and looked into the mirror, straightening my tie and smirking with the thought.
I'll have the last laugh.
♠ ♠ ♠
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