Grasshoppers.

#100BM Day 81

Woke up in Reykjavík, went to the Blue Lagoon, and now I am one of my least favourite places on Earth, Pearson Airport, for a bizarrely long layover.

I am glad of a long layover because, despite there now being a train between terminals, one still has to walk a hundred million miles to get anywhere. Also, the train may be new, but it sure feels rickety. This place is no North Haverbrook.

Also? The Mill Street Brewery runs a bar here, which, sure, but also a wee food kiosk outside it, which had snack-size bags of chips for $2.29 and very generic looking prepackaged sandwiches for $10.15. I am used to airport markup, but that is fucking preposterous.

Speaking of preposterous, they now have self-checkout for customs? What the hell?

At least the computer didn’t single me out for inspection. The only time that has happened to me was here.

Speaking of security, two staff (I hope?) walked through an alarmed door and didn’t turn back to fix the howling thing or apologize to the guard who ran over to turn it off. I feel super safe now.

And there really are too many final boarding calls, and I say this is as a jerk who held up a plane last week. One flight shouldn’t need four of them.

Agh, I still have more than an hour to go in this terrible place. If my luggage hadn’t been checked through, I’d have been tempted to fuck off and try to get a bus instead.

And the alarmed door was triggered again. Fucking hell.

I wish I had the two tiny sample bottles of duty-free booze about now.

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