“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Toronto”.<\/p>\n
A collective sigh of relief as the Air Canada 747 comes to a slow stop. The tension, hovering in the Economy cab since take off…Releasing.<\/p>\n
I reach for my phone. Before I can even scroll through the list of contacts, organized by city in case I happen to be in your town, I realize:<\/p>\n
“Shiiiiiit…”<\/p>\n
The adorable elderly woman sitting beside me jerks her gaze in my direction. I instantly feel embarrassed. If she had ever owned a cell phone in her life, I might be able to explain, perhaps garner some sympathy. Not this Grandma…<\/p>\n
It troubles me to think about how many phone numbers I’ve had in the last year. It scares me to try and explain why. Even the amount of PHONES I have owned is ridiculous, to say the least.<\/p>\n
The repercussions of this devastating fact were soon to be felt, as I scrolled in vain to find my ride from the airport’s name.<\/p>\n
I guess it was in my American phone. Nope, must be in the old Blackberry. Gosh has it really been THAT long…<\/p>\n
There’s a saying that has stayed close to me in the past few years and I couldn’t help but smirk as it ran through my mind:<\/p>\n
“Well, if that’s the worst of your problems…”<\/p>\n
I collect my small backpack and, guitar in hand, walk past all the shmucks who insist on checking luggage. A two week tour with ten shows? No Problem! I can fit all I could possibly need in one backpack! Besides, I had a show to play!<\/p>\n
Onward and outward.<\/p>\n
Through the airport. Double glass doors open automatically. Insert every swear word you could possibly imagine.<\/p>\n
See, in Toronto, it’s cold. Cold is an understatement. If you grew up in BC and had just spent about half a year in California riding your bike around in January in nothing more than a t-shirt, it’s the kind of cold that slaps you in the face and makes you want to walk RIGHT back on the plane. In that moment, I was glad I’d booked myself a show in Cambridge that was set to start in about 2 hours. Sense of purpose, I guess.<\/p>\n
There’s really no interesting way I can describe how brutal the next hour was. I did it though, I stood outside, hoping that my friend John would drive by and see me shivering like Paris Hilton’s Chihuahua.<\/p>\n
I called everyone I could think of. I went against my better judgment and hopped on Facebook, in hopes that someone there would be able to help me (fast forward: $500 in data roaming charges in two weeks. Oops). Finally, after the YVR Security Guard’s third attempt at “humour” (‘Gee you’ve almost been here as long as I have!”) I bailed. Inside I went.<\/p>\n
Double glass doors. Heat wave. Warmth smacking you in the face and wrapping all around you like a blanket. Tingly wollen mittens of Toronto Airport heating system. Feeling…in hands…slowly…returning…<\/p>\n
More phones. More expensive internet with no data plan. Long distance calls to boyfriend in L.A. to see if he can track anyone down.<\/p>\n
“John!”<\/p>\n
“Billy!”<\/p>\n
Glass window. Nose basically pressed up against it. John walking by. Victory.<\/p>\n
We get to the venue in Cambridge, an hour away. I can say it was the first time I’ve ever walked in to a venue while the headlining band was onstage setting up and heard “Oh, Billy…we thought you’d be here earlier…”<\/p>\n
I set up. Tuner in guitar case. Harmonica in the backpack. Try not to pull all my underwear and t-shirts out on to the stage while I try and squeeze the harmonica free from in between scores of CDs, cables and clothes. Try to take my guitar out of the case without people seeing all the socks I have stuffed in to the case all around it.<\/p>\n
While onstage my friend Sean Ashby goes: “Billy the Kid has clothes in her guitar case. Tell THAT story at the Junos.”<\/p>\n
PLEASE FEEL FREE TO POST COMMENTS TO ANY AND ALL BLOGS \ud83d\ude42<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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