I do love going on holiday, but holy shit do I ever hate getting there. Being somewhere outside your norm is amazing. Exploring new territory is exciting and makes you feel like you’re expanding your boundaries. Not gonna lie, I primarily enjoy being somewhere else because it allows me to eat from areas beyond my favourite restaurants. Maybe I should forego vacations and instead look for a good restaurant at every Toronto subway stop.
When I’m on “tour”, I don’t want to have to make hard decisions. Neither though, do I want to be mentally pressed in the lead up. So in simpler terms, I wish everything could just be organised for me in accordance with my wishes. Oh, and let it be dirt cheap too, of course. It’s dumb, shitty and entitled, but undeniably true. I can tell that when I grow up, I’ll be the kind of person who’d gladly put money into other people’s if it made my experiences all the more convenient. For the first time since the 90s, I understand why travel agents exist.
I mean, it’s not the 90s. There’s still no fucking way I’d use a travel agent, but I get how it could be a viable option for old people.
Ugh, can’t I just develop teleportation powers already? That way I’d never have to book flights or any other transportation. Dealing with additional insurance costs for car rentals, delivering them to specific locations and shopping around Google for promo codes would be a thing of the past. Accommodation wouldn’t be a necessity, but if I wanted to stay somewhere different it’d still be an option. I just want to appear in an area and start ravenously devouring local cuisine. Like the sudden appearance of a B movie blob, devouring innocent passers by. I’m sure French people would taste dainty and delicious.
The reality of the situation is that life doesn’t happen like that. If you want nice things, you need to work towards them in one way or another. People don’t rush to prostrate themselves at your feet and do things for you. Unless you’re part Veela anyway. If you don’t want to think about the minutiae, then you pay for the privilege of not having to do so. If you don’t want to windmill slam fat stacks of cash onto someone’s desk, then you need to pick through travel forums, Facebook threads and RetailMeNot for inevitably outdated or invalid promo codes. Or happen to be travelling with a mega type A saint who gets off on that kind of thing. Sometimes they accept gratitude as payment.
None of this is news for anyone, but sometimes I like to use my space here to whinge profusely (read: every single day). A holiday is supposed to be relaxing. So why can’t I earn enough to do that windmill fat stacks move? You there. Person reading. Can you cause me to become a viral sensation somehow? I could use the sponsorship money for all of my dreams of laziness. It’s a worthy cause, at least from where I’m sitting.
Which is on the internet. Co-incidentally the right place to find all the info I need. Dammit. I was looking for excuses, not solutions.