The only downside of being in Calgary was the seven hour layover, during which I chose to not leave the airport. Whatever can go wrong will, says Murphy, and I’m told some chap named Moore once expressed that Murphy was an optimist. Moore’s Law of Disaster, which has nothing to do with computer technology-well, nothing specific, though it seems applicable on many occasions-swirled through my mind like the snows of Calgary.
Yes, yes, boo, hiss, and all that. I know.
But, yes, when you’re stuck in any airport for seven hours, drinking seems like a good idea. Upshot: bacon in Canada rocks. Not Canadian bacon, but what Americans consider bacon, except with fewer nitrites and a lot less sodium. And the ketchup is better, too. Sure, that sounds strange, but it’s true. Anyway, yeah. The downside, of course, is that the beer selection at the airport sucked, and the closest thing they had to bourbon was Jack Daniels. So I went with a Crown and Coke. Right.
Found another bar. Changed my shoes finally. Drank some more Crown. Found a bar on the map, except it turns out the terminal is divided, so I couldn’t get there from where I needed to be. But, to the other, I did find a liquor store before passing through security. Three-fifty for a little bottle of Jack, which is about three of what the bartenders considered a shot. Worked out well enough, sort of. In the end, I'm not going to complain.
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