Customs

On Easter Sunday, Greg and I shared lunch with the rest of his family and then took off to the airport. As we were checking in our bags with Air Canada, we were forewarned by an agent to proceed towards customs check as soon as possible since it may take awhile. We moved into the line and noticed there were rows in front of us till it was our turn.

Towards the middle of the line, I felt a slight pang in my stomach and my face instantaneously turned green because I knew it would be more than a couple of minutes till we approach a lavatory in sight. Looking distressed and with a quivering low voice, I uttered to Greg, "Babe, I need to go number 2...seriously, I can't take it anymore."

He appeared empathetic to my situation, but he responded, "I'm sorry, we're almost there...just two more rows....besides, you need to stay calm and normal for customs check or else they'll pull us aside and interview us, which would even take longer."

At that moment, I felt as if he was saying all the things I did not want to hear. In line, I was making excruciating faces and if anyone saw us, they probably thought we were having an intense argument. Little did they know, I was fighting my own battle.

To make matters less painful, I came up with the idea of pinching my hand to transfer my focus elsewhere. However, it was deemed unsuccessful. My stomach was getting out of control and so was my patience. Then, I began praying in hope of God to forsake me from my misery. I asked for his forgiveness if this was a lesson about eating meat accidentally during Lent. But nope, it did not work either.

After a series of heavy breathing, we reached the customs agent and I could not even bear to look at him. My back and forehead was sweating as if I had gone through a yoga session. Greg answered for our "family" and we carried on to security check in. Security check was in the next part of the airport and I was hoping to find a restroom on that particular floor. I asked the security agents and they said there were none on this floor and I had to go through security, take an escalator down and walk towards my right near my gate. In my mind, I was thinking, "This is so mean."

Once Greg and I got through security, Greg said, "Give me all your stuff and just go...I'll find you. Don't worry about me." I darted as quick as I could and felt at peace at last.

As a quick note for the Toronto Airport, please install restrooms in your customs area...aya!