I am in Windsor Ontario right now, the Canadian city south of Detroit USA. There were times that I thought being in London Ontario was dull and depressing. Windsor makes London seem like a booming metropolis.

Okay, fine, I am being a bit jaded with my sweeping review of Windsor. Part of it has to do with the fact that I have had to work every day since I arrived here including a number of 14 hour work days. Outside of being in the hospital, I have not been doing anything else. So with deeper though, I think I dislike Windsor because of my own circumstance as opposed to the city in and of itself.

Chronic fatigue and work-related angst aside, I get a week off soon. I will be going down to Cleveland Ohio to torment my sister, and then maybe over to Markham/Toronto to buy some authentic frozen Chinese food.

So speaking of food, for the next place I live in, having fresh Asian produce will be a must. This narrows down the Canadian cities to Toronto, Vancouver, Calgary, Montreal, and Edmonton. In London, I had given up looking for Chinese food staples such as bok choy and choi sum. To add insult to injury, in Windsor, not only am I struggling to find good Western produce, but the kitchen in the place I am staying at is filthy. The other day, after finishing breakfast I found a three inch long millipede crawling in the kitchen sink. After flushing it down the sink with boiling water (regular tap water only made it angry), I had decided to give up cooking in Windsor, and stick with the frozen Michelinas on sale at the local A&P grocery store.

Anyway, special thanks to Mike for letting me take his laptop to Windsor. I need to figure out how to get a photo editing program working on this thing. :)

On my flight back from Calgary to Toronto last month, I sat down in my usual aisle seat. Though most people prefer window seats for the sights outside, I am a habitual aisle seat picker.

I actually get jittery like a crack addict when clustered into a window seat. I prefer the quick in/out access for lavatory and overhead bin access. That and in the event of a crash, you get out of the plane faster from an aisle seat while all the people in the window seats die a horrible fiery death. Another habit is placing my backpack in the overhead bin. Unable to afford anything better, I travel by economy class (weeping and gnashing of teeth, burning sulfur, etc.), where leg room is merely a passing thought at best. So why obstruct what little room I have with a cumbersome carry-on?

A generously-sized gentleman was sitting in the seat beside me. He started off the flight by breaking open a 600mL (20 fl oz) bottle of regular Sprite. By the time the airplane had reached cruising altitude, the bottle was empty and the flight attendants were starting to offer refreshments. The couple across the aisle opened their wallets for some wine. I had my usual salty tomato juice. Hypertension never tastes better than when served as a cold glass of blended tomatoes, monosodium glutamate, and enough salt to pickle a small rodent or two.

The man beside me requested a can 355mL (12 fl oz) of Coca-Cola, the non-diet variety. He swiftly swigged the bubbling brown brew. Without even a belch in between, he asked the flight attendant for a second serving of the sweet syrup served from the candy-crimson can. Fizz. Pop. Crackle. Chug. Though it took longer the second time around, he finished the other tin without much effort.

Now being in the aisle seat, it would only be a matter of time before he would need to get past me to use the bathroom. What with 1.3L (44 fl oz) of sugar water consumed and all. Volume aside, the amount of glucose and caffeine approaching his blood stream would probably enough give him the mild urge to tinkle. I would need to leave my seat the moment he needed to get out to the lavatory, lest I take the chance of the dreaded economy class ass-to-face-fly-by. Unlike Harry Potter, who has a vast arsenal of spells to protect him, all I can do is get out of the way quickly.

Two hours into the flight, our friend had yet to make a trip to the bathroom. However, he did make a trip into his carry on baggage to get a blue bottle of Gatorade - 750mL (25 fl oz) of cerulean saccharine goodness. Like a bloom sipped at by a 250lb humming bird, the bottle was gradually drained of its nectar over the next hour.

Four hours after take off, seat belts were fastened once again, and trays and seatbacks were returned to their upright position. Still though, he had not needed to go to the bathroom. This man somehow took in two whole liters of fluid and sugar (just over half a gallon) but still no forced osmotic diuresis resulting in a trip to the bathroom. Maybe he had an enlarged prostate blocking his bladder like a child holding its finger in a leak of a large dam.

The plane taxied up to the gate and I got off the plane. No longer distracted by my fixation, I realized that I was the one who needed to make a quick trip to the bathroom.

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