csutter

Part 11: AA3304 YYZ-ORD: Where are your bags?
E145 N608LM, Economy, 12A

"Where are your bags?" is a question I will hear a lot over the next 20 minutes. It starts at AA priority checkin, followed by the friendly gentleman checking boarding passes before immigration, followed by the US immigration officer. I quickly explain to him why I am re-entering the US barely three days after coming there in the first place, fully expecting him to subject me to an equally drawn out interrogation as his Canadian counterpart in the morning. Turns out he thinks there's nothing wrong with going on a daytrip to Toronto and wishes me good luck for my torturous journey back to Boston. Turns out US immigration couldn't care less, it's only Canada that hates me. Suits me just fine


I proceed to the security checkpoint, before and at which I am asked three times by various staff as to the whereabouts of my bags (cue sharp intake of breath), and wonder for a while why the staff there are wearing Canadian uniforms. It finally dawns on my exhausted brain that yes, I am still in Canada. And there I was thinking the TSA had a rebranding.


I walk over to the Admirals Club and am welcomed by a charming lady who hands me the customary drinks chit and winces in empathy when I explain where I'm going and how I'm getting there. I grab a Stella from the bar and sit down in the completely empty club, when she comes over and asks me if I have any bags checked in (gah!). Turns out she's trying to get me on the earlier flight to Chicago which just started boarding, meaning I could then go on an earlier ORD-BOS flight as well. What an angel!

Unfortunately they had just finished boarding so she brings me another two drinks chits and wishes me all the best in my endeavours. I grab another Stella and spend the next half hour admiring what has become a rather busy page in my passport.


My angel informs me it is time for boarding so with a heavy heart I grab another cookie and make my way downstairs to the tiny shuttle boarding area. I hang around the gate with the "Chicago" sign for a few minutes, wondering where all the people are, until I realise that despite all the signage they are boarding all flights through one gate. Oops.

The boarding agent asks me if I have any bags (deep breath now) and ushers me out into the tiny Embraer E145. I cosy up in seat 12A (single seat as these commuter jets are configured 1-2), not after hitting my head on something twice on the way down the aisle.


We taxi for ages, as per North American SOP, and then the folks up front put the pedal to the metal and we scream down the runway in one of the most exhilerating takeoffs I've experienced this side of London City Airport. They might be cute funny little planes, but boy can they accelerate.

Service consists of a drinks run where I'm served coffee. No milk onboard, so I get a pack of creamer which brings back distant memories of European rail travel in the 1990s. That said, I'd drink anything caffeinated at this point.


We land in Chicago on time after a gorgeous approach over the water and the city and I'm strangely happy to be back on American soil...