The puck

“What do you mean the flight has been cancelled?”

“Like I said madam, the flight has been cancelled. We’re sorry for the inconvenience.”

“But the plane is there! And so are the pilots and flight attendants!”

“Unfortunately, there isn’t enough time to groom the plane and turn it around before the curfew lands tonight.”

“Where will I stay?”

“We’ve arranged accommodation for you at the Montreal Airport Westin for the evening, and then the first flight to Boston will leave tomorrow at 7:15. There’s a shuttle on departures level.”

That is how Marianne was deposited in the Westin lobby with her carry-on bag, at the end of a very long line of travellers also seeking rooms. When she briefly closed her eyes, the noise in the hotel was reduced to a dull roar, but immediately started back up as soon as she opened them. The harsh florescent lights were mismatched with the otherwise warm brown colours of the hotel. When by the time it was her turn to check in, she was nearly asleep on her feet, but could feel the piecing light through her eyelids.

“Could you please insert your credit card? The airline voucher you provided will pay for the stay, but we need it for incidentals,”

“Mmm,” groaned Marianne and she put her card into the reader.

“Perfect. Your room is 176, on the second floor. The entrance to the rooms is past the restaurant, and through the double doors. Go down the right hall.”

Marianne walked towards the doors, her rolling bag making a clicking sound along the tiles. When she reached the doors, they automatically swung outwards. They would have hit her if she wasn’t tired and walking slowly. She moved towards the right hall. The first door read 101. Of course it did. Only seventy-five more doors to go. It was a strange hallway, slightly curved to the left. She plodded along slowly. The rooms were on both sides of the hall, and further apart than she expected. Her bag no longer clicked, and it felt as though it was bogged down silently by the carpet.

The silent hallway was a stretch from the clamour of the lobby, completely devoid of people and things. The lighting was instead warm and dull, and didn’t help her stay awake. It was starting to get a bit eerie. She checked the numbers on the doors again. 145. Getting close. She decided to stop checking numbers so often. They made the trip seem longer, and it would be fun to see if she could guess when she was there; a little game.

The hallway was still slightly curved to the left. It dawned on Marianne that she might have been walking in circles. Well, not circles, but one big circle. She could only see three doors down. She looked back and could only see three doors back. There was no indication of how far she had walked, or how much there was left to walk, except for the numbers on the doors. Nervous, she checked again. 159.

Then, she heard voices, voices getting closer. What a relief. Around the bend appeared a young Chinese couple. They saw Marianne and they stopped chatting with one another. She nodded at them, and soon it was like they were never there at all. The silence was deafening. 171. A few steps later, she arrived at her room. She took out the card that she was given, and the light on the lock pulsed red. She tapped it again. It pulsed red. She tried opening the door, but it was locked. She checked the room number on the door. 176. She checked the number written on the cardboard cardholder. 176. She tried the door one last time. The light on the lock pulsed red again.

“FUCK!”

Marianne looked at her watch. 1:08. She barely had six hours to sleep at this point. She considered sleeping on the carpet. She sighed, retracted the handle of her suitcase, left it in front of her room, and turned back down the way she came. The numbers grew smaller and smaller again, as the hall curved to the right. Then, she heard voices behind her, quickly drawing closer. It was a family, the father carrying two suitcases at full sprint, the mother dragging the child behind them.

“On va rater le vol!” said the mother.

“Je manque pas des vol,” said the father, and continued running.

They continued onwards and disappeared like the couple before them. Marianne continued along the hall, quicker now without her bags. But no matter how she hurried, the hallway remained unchanged, slightly curved and identical doors all along. However, the numbers descended as she expected: 152. 104. 64. 28. And then she arrived again at the door leading to the lobby. It was then that she noticed the second hallway. The sign pointing to it said 151–199, and the sign pointing to the hall she walked down said 101–150. This place was circular?

She arrived at the lobby and explained the situation to profuse apologies from the front desk agent.

“Once again, I’m so sorry Ms. Martin, and here is your room card. Don’t forget to go down the right hall. You might get lost otherwise.”

Marianne had already stepped away from the front desk when she realized that the desk agent had suggested that she go the long way around. After stepping through the doors, she hesitated. Well, it’d be a much shorter route if she was right about the door on the left, and if she wasn’t then she should know quickly.

199 said the first door on the left. The one diagonally across the hall read 198. So far so good. Then 197. Looks like she made the right decision after all. She decided to play her little game again; this time she would see if she could stop just before seeing her suitcase. After another twenty doors or so, she paused to see if she had guessed right. Except the door she found had no room number on it. Maybe it had fallen off. She checked the one across the hall. No room number either. Nor the one after that. Panicked now, she turned around and ran back towards the direction she had came, still refusing to look at the doors, scared that they wouldn’t have numbers. When she finally summoned the courage to look at a door, it was bare as well.

“Allons-y!” came a shout from behind her.

Marianne whipped her head around and saw the French-speaking family from earlier.

“C’est ou le sortie?” asked the mother plaintively.

She wanted to wave them down and ask them for help, but they were too far gone. Plus, she didn’t speak French. She just had to keep on going. Down the hall she ran, frantically looking for her suitcase. She passed a couple wearing matching 2008 Celine Dion concert tour shirts. She ran faster and faster, until her lungs burned and the edges of her vision grew fuzzy. She collapsed on the floor, willing her heart to stop beating so quickly. She felt it slow down, little by little, beat by beat, and her eyelids fell lower and lower.

The next day, when Marianne went to check out, the agent at the front desk told her she had left her purse there when she was getting her keys fixed last night.

“Oh,” said Marianne, smiling, “I guess it must have slipped her mind with all the stress last night.”