This was our last night in Canada, so we wanted to head back down to the pier for some dinner. But first, we had to make arrangements to get home. We were flying out of Seattle two days later, so we had to make ferry arrangements to get there. We walked down to the ferry terminal, and this one looked a bit different. Until this point, all of the ferries that we took were state run commuter ferries. With the exception of the Anacortes debacle, they cost a few bucks each way, and you could just walk right on, especially if you weren't bringing a car. But the Victoria Clipper was a private operation that billed itself as a vacation charter company. Which, of course, meant that it was going to cost tourist prices. But it was the only game in town, so we bit the bullet, and plunked our $120 down on the ticket counter.
We were a little surprised when the agent didn't take the money. "Do you have a reservation?"
Get out. A reservation? Come on.
"No, really. The Clipper books out weeks ahead of time."
Sonofabitch.
So with the same disdain as a snooty hostess trying to find you a table, the ticket agent disinterestedly clicked a few things into her computer.
"Hmm. 11:00" Clack, clack, clack, clack. "Full."
"5:00" Clack, clack, clack, clack. "Full."
"6:45" Clack, clack, clack, clack. "Oh, wow. Two seats available."
At that point, I wanted to tell her that we didn't need her stupid ferry, and stomp off. But we actually did need her stupid ferry. Quite a bit, in fact. The 6:45 ferry would get us in at midnight, which would screw up our dinner plans, but it would at least get us to Seattle in time for our flight home. So we bought the tickets and asked about standby. The agent said that standby was possible, but we had to be back here at the ticket counter by 7am the next day to get in line.
Barely getting a ticket, and having to get up at 5 the next day kind of took the fun out of dinner that night. I actually don't even remember where we went, but I'm sure I had a beer, and I'm sure I was cranky. At one point, I considered hiring a sea plane. It was cheaper than you'd think, but more expensive than Aimee would let me get away with.
We woke up super early the next morning, and I was itching to get down to the ferry station. Aimee gets ready really fast, but I was still almost dragging her, half asleep, down to the bus station.
"It's fine, Myles, we're fine."
Maybe I was trying to stick it to the ferry company, or maybe I was really looking forward to a nice dinner in Seattle, but I was on a mission. I don't think I said a single word on the bus ride down there. But judging by her closed eyes and occasional snore, Aimee didn't mind.
The sun was barely peeking through the fog by the time we approached the ferry terminal. The whole ride down, I had been picturing 20 disheveled travelers in line waiting for a standby seat. But the waiting area was empty! My blood pressure started dropping back down to normal. But just as we turned the corner onto the property, a taxi dropped off a couple in their 50s. Gah! I was convinced that they were also waiting for standby, and they were going to take the only two seats on the 11am ferry. Believe me, I was a real treat to be with that morning. Just ask Aimee.
Over the course of the next hour, about 30 or so people gathered in front of the ferry terminal. My glare may have burned a whole in the head of the guy in front of me, and I probably lost a couple of healthy years during retirement. But I mostly kept it together, at least outwardly.
At 7am, the ferry terminal's doors opened up, and we all walked in with the unmistakable mix of civilized patience and the repressed, untrusting rage of tourists in line at a ticket counter. The couple ahead of us stepped up to the ticket agent, and I almost lost it when they said, "We'd like to buy a ticket for next week."
"What?! Are you crazy?! Do you know what you just did to me?! Next week?! Woo hoo!"
Even the ticket agent seemed a little surprised. So we walked up next and asked to be on standby for the 11am ferry. This ticket agent was different than the one from yesterday, but she must have taken the same disinterested typing course in ticket agent school.
Clack, clack, clack, clack. "Ok. Here is your standby card. Be back here by 10am. Next."
So now Aimee and I had a couple of early morning hours to kill. The Victoria waterfront is purely made up of tourist operations, so there wasn't much activity that early. A city employee powerwashed the walkway, shopkeepers got ready for the day, and some type of convention was being set up in the parking lot.
This was our view from the bench that we parked ourselves on for the next couple of hours.
Aimee and I, a little delirious from the morning's events, kept paraphrasing Arrested Development. "There's money in the lemon stand. There's money in the lemon stand.
At 10am, we headed back to the ferry terminal. The waiting area was crazy packed, and there were signs up on the wall apologizing for the tight quarters. They encouraged passengers to call the Victoria Harbor Authority and ask it to expand the Clipper's terminal. Seriously. This was just getting stranger and stranger.
All of the ticketed passengers boarded the ferry, and there were about 20 of us left in waiting area. And then something funny happened. I looked up to see who was around us, and it was like seeing parallel universe versions of Myles and Aimee. Everyone else left in terminal was coupled up, carrying the same types of backpacks, and wearing the same types of cargo pants as we were. They were all different ethnicities and nationalities, but any one of them could have been us. It was like a United Nations meeting for 20-30 somethings that travel light and don't make reservations ahead of time. We're not so different, after all. Maybe I was projecting, or maybe I was still delirious, but it looked like they were all realizing the same thing.
Of course, as soon as the ticket agent gave the manager a stack of standby cards to choose from, we all snapped back to reality. He rifled through the cards, and picked out a few. It was like he was playing goldfish.
He called out, "Some name, Other name, Don't care, Stone, Another person."
We were in! See ya, suckers. Screw the UN, we're getting on that boat.
The Clipper was just as packed as the waiting room, which made me feel far less bad for them getting assigned a crappy terminal in Victoria. But a couple hours later, we were in Seattle, and we couldn't be happier.
Epiloge:
I found this story online a couple months after we got back. He must not have wanted to ride standby, either. Good for him.
