traitor

It's a small country. Plane mates on the Vancouver to WHITEHORSE stint (yes, I'm in Whitehorse; which, I guess, is better than finding out mid-flight that you're going to Winnipeg, or something) included two dudes with whom I used to work with in Saskatchewan. Been almost four years since I've seen them, and save for a few grey hairs on their heads (not mine, of course), they are the exact same friendly, down to earth guys they've always been. I felt transported back in time for 2 hours and 18 minutes, until the plane touched down, and the various passengers scattered to form groups of colours around the baggage conveyor belt: red, Ontario; blue, I don't know who; black, well, you get the point. I drifted to the reds, who were hanging out with the colourless (because we can't pick favourites, now can we), and watched from afar as all the green plaids hugged, chatting happily with each other. The reds and colourless? We all checked our Blackberries, confirming that there is indeed no wireless service (THANK. GOD.)

I miss my green plaid peeps, even if their fashion sense is questionable.