Canada Free Press -- ARCHIVES

Because without America, there is no free world.

Return to Canada Free Press

Cover Story

Survivor with wings


by Judi McLeod February 28 - March 20, 2001

The downtown Delta Chelsea is an interesting place. At 5 o'clock when bartender Linda is cutting lemons and limes for the evening opening of the Monarch bar, Air Canada personnel are checking in for layover. Uniformed pilots, co-pilots, flight attendants and their luggage form a blue queue at the front desk.

It was on Dec. 13, a day destined to go down in my calendar as the worst one of 2000, that I met a flight attendant named Marilyn.

A chance meeting in the lounge of the ladies' washroom, is a strange place for an encounter at the end of an altogether weird kind of day.

I had only ventured into the washroom to discreetly check on my feet, cold and wet from leaking boots.

TFP had spent the better part of the day in Small Claim's court facing off with a disgruntled employee. Although he actually owed us money, the plaintiff was going after us for $4,000.

No one had thought to have breakfast. No matter, we were going to celebrate imminent victory over lunch. The day got off to a less than auspicious start with traffic tie-ups.

Private investigator and columnist Bill Joynt, who would represent our case and myself, had to jump out of the van and make a run for it several blocks away, hoping to make it on time.

When he arrived at the court's full parking lot, Brian Thompson, who was scheduled as the key witness, had to search out alternate parking and hurry back.

The case we thought would wrap up quickly continued through lunch break. Late in the afternoon, the judge ruled we would have to pay the plaintiff $1,000. Christmas or not, we all had to agree that it could have been worse as the plaintiff had been after $4,000, and ongoing commission for an ad which he had never sold.

Relieved to have it over and longing for downtown, we had to walk several blocks through snow and slush to our van. Headed for his company's annual Christmas party, Bill was wearing dress shoes.

There was no vehicle upon our arrival. Brian used his cellular and discovered that towed away during the past few minutes, his van was still in transit.

To find it, Brian left for what was to be a long TTC ride.

Bill and I clambered down the stairs to the first subway station we saw, but it was of the type that would only take tokens of which we had none.

Back up on the street we tried in vain to flag the first passing taxicab. After half an hour, a passerby informed us that cruising cabs were a rare commodity in this neighbourhood.

Seeing us stamping our feet for warmth, a cabby, who happened to be driving his ex-wife to work, took pity on us.

With visions of goodies at his company party, no one was happier to see downtown than Bill. Cold, hungry, tired and disappointed, the Delta's special way with calamari and a long bloody Caesar were in order for me. A guaranteed antidote for blurring visions of smirking ex-employees, I thought.

Linda said her usual cheery "Hello" the moment I slipped onto my bar seat. I ordered my calamari and drink, then ducked into the ladies' to check on my numbed toes.

I barely noticed Marilyn on my way to the stalls. On my way out, I could not help but notice that she was weeping. Surrounded by her luggage, she was writing what turned out to be a Dear John letter. Checking into the Delta after an overseas flight, a clerk had given her a message. The message was from one of her neighbours flagging her that her significant other had moved in with the lady down the hall in her high-rise--taking most of the furniture with him.

Young and lovely, Marilyn was emotionally devastated. We spoke for awhile. She kept saying bitterly, "It's Christmas." It turned out that significant other Kevin had a cell phone, which she had already tried only to reach voice mail. I gradually talked her into making a telephone call and leaving a message that went something like this: "You wondered why I was late the last couple of flights. Couldn't bring myself to tell you, but I was with Mark, the fabulously wealthy co-pilot with a certain part of anatomy more pleasing than yours. Cheers and Merry Christmas."

"Remember, it will only work if you sound strong and aren't crying," I coached her when we reached the hotel's bank of telephones.

Marilyn pulled it off without a hitch, and we both performed a little thumbs-up jig.

As I was about to leave, she worried about how she would get through this "terrible long night."

"Buy a scented candle and a glossy magazine in the gift shop. Then draw a nice hot bath when you get to your room. Guaranteed you'll have a better night than him," I told her.

I was rushing back to the Monarch when she yelled across the lobby. "Hey, I don't even know your name. You must be some kind of Christmas angel."

I crossed over the lobby and gave her my card. Longing for my calamari and drink, I told her, "No, just a survivor with wings."

When I slid back into my bar seat, the ever-intuitive Linda quipped, "Long trip to the washroom, huh."

Shucking off my boots, I tucked into my refreshments. Suddenly my day didn't seem such a nightmare. My thoughts had become elevated far beyond bad guys getting even in court.

No matter how rocky your road, there is always someone with a sadder story than yours.

Canada Free Press founding editor Most recent by Judi McLeod is an award-winning journalist with 30 years experience in the print media. Her work has appeared on Newsmax.com, Drudge Report, Foxnews.com, Glenn Beck. Judi can be reached at: judi@canadafreepress.com


Pursuant to Title 17 U.S.C. 107, other copyrighted work is provided for educational purposes, research, critical comment, or debate without profit or payment. If you wish to use copyrighted material from this site for your own purposes beyond the 'fair use' exception, you must obtain permission from the copyright owner. Views are those of authors and not necessarily those of Canada Free Press. Content is Copyright 1997-2018 the individual authors. Site Copyright 1997-2018 Canada Free Press.Com Privacy Statement