Under Construction

Postmodern Sass Goes To The U.K. Part II
continued from Part I

---

July 1, 2005
Canada Day

I'm in Terminal 1 at the Toronto airport, which I always think of as the Toronto airport, even though it was renamed to Pearson International many years ago, and even though there actually is another Toronto airport, the Island airport (which is actually called Toronto City Centre airport, though no one calls it that), which is a stone's throw from where I live. Literally. Well, OK, maybe a baseball's throw, and only if you can throw a baseball 400 feet, but it's close. Really close. But I can't fly to the U.K. from there, so I'm here at T1 waiting for the shuttle bus to take me to the "infield terminal" where I'll board my plane for Glasgow.

Terminal 1, you see, is still under construction. Though the new terminal opened just over a year ago, it still isn't finished, and some international flights, or maybe it's all international flights, I don't know, come and go from what used to be the cargo terminals, way out at the other end of the airport. The shuttle bus ride is almost twenty minutes. I remember from last year when I made the same trip, for the same reason.

When I have nothing to do but wait I can't help but read — anything around me. Here in the netherlands of the basement of the newly constructed but not yet finished T1 what I'm staring at is a sign which reads, "We appreciate your understanding during this interim time of construction and bussing."

Interim time? Isn't that unneccessarily redundant and repetitive?

I went to Bristol last July, too. It was my first time at the university that I hope will one day bestow upon me a doctor of philosophy degree; my first time meeting my advisors. Last year, I was excited about the trip; I was embarking on a new academic venture. I was keen to get started (not to mention, to get finished). I was highly motivated. And I had Jack waiting here in Toronto for me when I returned. But that's another story.

This year, I'm ambivalent. I feel like Maddie Hayes, when she finally agreed to go on a date with David Addison. That's what she said, then, too: I feel ambivalent.

This is not a vacation. I am not going there to have fun, and I certainly won't be relaxing. No, this trip is going to be more like... well, I think it's going to be something like when you get called into the principal's office for a stern talking-to.

I'm under construction everyone
So you'll have to mind the mess

On the one hand, I want to renew my commitment to my PhD; I want to refind that enthusiasm that I had last year; I want to rethink the thoughts I had when I thought I knew what I was thinking about my PhD about.

On the other hand, I'm afraid my advisors, whom I've steadfastly ignored since last October, will take one look at me — if they recognize me, that is — and say, "You are not cut out for this."

So I am ambivalent.

And in the mood to nitpick signs.

Inside the bus that will take me to the infield, the sign expresses the same apology, though in slightly abbreviated terms: "Thank you for your patience during this time of interim bussing." It's rendered in white plastic letters across the top of the window. Looks like they ran out of room. Or, perhaps, realized too late that they should have used a smaller font.

THEY SAY: coach
WE SAY: bus

Last year, as the shuttle bus pulled away from the building I realized it would take us straight past the old Terminal 1, the oh so tiny building that was once, about fifty years ago, the entire Toronto airport. That day in July, 2004, they were in the middle of knocking it down. It was dusk, but the crane with the great demolition ball was still swinging. I squeezed my way to the back of the bus as it drove past, so I could watch for as long as possible.

The old Terminal 1 is gone now.
* * *Go to Postmodern Sass Goes To The U.K. Part III