hadn't hit Albertan soil, and I already have a story

We were on the flight from Toronto to Calgary. I was sitting in the aisle seat. Across the aisle from me was a man who looked like James Cromwell. He was reading a print-off from Dermatology Journal Online. The article was on malignant melanomas. I pretended not to peer at all the pictures of skin deformities. They were totally gross, so naturally, I couldn't look away. Unless he looked at me, then I did the glazed-eye-blank-stare-I'm-not-actually-looking-at-you-I'm-just-
looking-in-your-general-direction-look

About a half-hour into the flight, an announcement came over the loud speaker. "If there is a doctor or any other medical personnel on board, can you please make yourself known to the flight crew."

I looked at James Cromwell expectantly. He better have been a doctor, or else he was just reading Dermatology Journal Online to pass the time. And that is worrisome. But sure enough, after a few seconds - where he was no doubt deliberated whether his Hippocratic Oath was worth disturbing his vacation - he slowly reached for the button to get a flight attendant's attention, and one scurried over.

"I'm a doctor."

"Okay great. We're having a medical emergency at the back of the plane. First time flyer. We think maybe it's some sort of panic attack."

He nodded and stood, completely composed - like he'd expected this to happen, like it happened all the time, like it was just another humdrum day of kicking ass and taking names. Maybe it was.

He followed the flight attendant to the back of the plane, and I didn't see him again on that four-hour flight until it was nearing the end. How long does it take to calm a llama down? Apparently the same amount of time it takes to cross the prairie provinces.

I didn't see any of it go down. I should have gone to the back of the plane, under the pretence of using the washroom so I could scope the situation. I wanted to see the medical emergency handled effortlessly by Dr. James Cromwell, dermatologist/life saver/bad ass extraordinaire.

The picture in my mind was of a hysterical woman, mid-forties, possibly a visible minority, in the fetal position, rocking on the floor, praying to Jesus and repeating three words over and over something like - "Plane don't crash. Plane don't crash." That's what I would have done, if I was going to have a medical emergency on a plane. It's called style, ladies and gentlemen.

So anyway, a few minutes before landing, the flight attendant came back on the loudspeaker. He was middle-aged and clearly gay and even more clearly loving the drama on his flight. He had a take-charge attitude that probably wasn't merited, and even if it was, he was a bit too gleeful about the whole affair. He said that we had to all remain seated when the plane landed, because paramedics would be boarding, so we couldn't move until they had safely gotten the "medical emergency" off the plane. By this point, I fully expected the medical emergency to be a snake bite, and the paramedic to be Samuel L. Jackson. But alas, alack.

The paramedics came on, and nearly every person on the plane watched them go by their own seats, then turned and craned their necks to watch the action go down. Three rows in front of me, a little black boy - probably three or four, the cutest thing you'd ever see - stood on the his chair, jumping up and down excitedly, giggling and saying "daddy! hairy medics! hairy medics!" Adorable.

About five seconds after the paramedics made it to the back of the plane, hitting everyone with their equipment, they turned around, back out the way they came in, hitting everyone with their equipment. They were followed by two 20-something jocks. They were the medical emergency that took up James Cromwell's valuable time and caused a stir of excitement. They were walking normally and unassisted. In fact, they seemed healthier than most, if not all, the people on the flight. It was so disappointing that they were fine.

For the sake of a nice climactic story, you can go with the Samuel Jackson thing, if you want.

ps - Calgary is cold. Like, really cold. Like, -20 degrees. and there is snow. Apparently it's the most snow they've had all year. Great. Glad I came. Thanks for nothing, C-unit.