A Social Justice and Faith Webzine


maura hanrahan

by Maura Hanrahan

Few would argue that air travel is as enjoyable as it used to be: Security line-ups that move at a snail’s pace; onboard food for which we have to pay; and more taxes and charges even as service declines.

     I spend a fair amount of time at baggage carousels, hoping my luggage won’t be lost. Usually someone among the frequent flyers has a story about their suitcase going to Spain as they headed to a conference in California. It’s enough to send shivers down your spine.

     And then it happened to me –on a business trip last week. There I was in Toronto at eight o’clock on a Tuesday night due to deliver a presentation the next day at noon. My small audience would be made up of welcoming and understanding people, but it would be rude to show up in jeans and a t-shirt, with un-brushed teeth and dirty socks. The cab driver plunked me down at Yonge and Bloor, near my hotel, but, wouldn’t you know it, the stores were all closed. It turns out you can’t buy underwear at the centre of the universe on a weeknight. Odd that, because you can in my small city.


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