If I could have been anywhere on Earth on January 25, it would have been in Newark Liberty International Airport. I know that sounds absurd, so bear with me: More specifically, I would have been standing near Ventiko, the Brooklyn-based artist who tried to bring her emotional support peacock on board a United Airlines flight to Los Angeles.

​Witnessing the bizarre rebuff in person would have shed more light on the most fascinating news story of 2018 so far. I have to wonder: How did check-in staff and other passengers react? Can I bring my emotional support cactus on a plane? What is the average wind-speed velocity of an unladen peacock riding on a baggage cart? So many questions, so few answers.

Ultimately, I can only imagine what unfolded on that winter morning in northern New Jersey. So, as I see it, this is probably what went down:

Charlene (the check-in attendant): Good morning ma’am, may I see your identification and boarding pass please?

Ventiko: Here you go.

Charlene: Thank you Ms. Vinteko. Do you have any luggage to check with us?

Ventiko: I do, and...

Charlene: Very good. Please place your bags on the belt in front of you one by one. I see you selected our “economy” fare, which means your first checked bag will cost $100 and any supplementary luggage will be $200 per item. Will that be cash, credit or reverse mortgage?

Dexter (the peacock): Aaaaaaa-aaaaaaaa-aaaaaaa-aaaaaa-aaaaaaaaaaa!!!

Charlene: Ms. Fentivo, I assure you these fees are in line with industry standards, and...

Ventiko: That wasn’t me, that was Dexter.

Charlene (in a soothing voice): Well, “Dexter” doesn’t need to get so worked up, now does he? Perhaps “Dexter” should take another Xanax?

Ventiko (pointing at Dexter on the luggage cart behind her): No no, he is Dexter.

Dexter: Aaaaaaa-aaaaaaaa-aaaaaaa-aaaaaa-aaaaaaaaaaa!!!

Charlene: Mmmm, I see. (Long pause.) And will Dexter be joining you on your flight today?

Dexter: Yes. He is my emotional support peacock. He gives me so much positive energy in times of stress. We go for walks and drives together, he helps me with my work, he is just so inspiring! I couldn’t bear to leave him behind...

(Charlene picks up her phone, presses a large red button and speaks calmly into the receiver.)

Charlene: Bob, could you come over here for a minute please?

(Bob the baggage handler comes over.)

Bob: What’s up?

Charlene: Ms. Vasilevski here wishes to bring her pterodactyl on her flight.

Ventiko: He’s a peacock.

Charlene: Sorry, her peacock. His name is Hector.

Ventiko: It’s Dexter.

Charlene: Right. Anyway, Bob, is this kosher?

Bob: Sure is.

Charlene: Really?

Bob: You bet. Been seeing a lot of this lately. Just the other day Larry in meal services saw a guy check in with a mongoose. Said he had a diagnosed phobia of snakes on planes. Had papers and everything to prove it. You know that flight attendant out of Boston, Diane something?

Charlene: I sure do.

Bob: She told Larry some lady had a hedgehog on a flight last week.

Charlene: What’s a hedgehog?

Bob: It’s like a cross between a porcupine and a wild boar.

Charlene: Dang! They let that thing on a plane?

Bob: Crazy, right? So I figure this pterodactyl should be totally cool.

Charlene: Makes sense. Should I double-check with Sandy?

Bob: Can’t hurt.

Charlene (picking up her phone again): Sandy, can you come over here for a minute please?

(Sandy the check-in supervisor comes over.)

Sandy: Hey Charlene, what can I do ya for?

Charlene: Ms. Gradenko here wishes to bring her emotional support peacock on her flight. Is that allowed?

Sandy: Well this is one for the books. Let me check the manual.

(Sandy reaches under the desk and with considerable effort hauls out the enormous manual.)

Sandy: Let me see here: Payload, payola, peacemaker, peach...nope, nothing here about peacocks. You should be good to go.

Ventiko: That’s great to hear!

Dexter (triumphantly): Aaaaaaa-aaaaaaaa-aaaaaaa-aaaaaa-aaaaaaaaaaa!!!

Charlene: Well I hope you both have a great flight. If you’ll kindly make your way through security, you’ll be relaxing on board in no time and…

Bob: Now hold on a minute folks, I just thought of something: How much does Dexter weigh?

Ventiko: About 12 pounds.

Bob: That’s too heavy. Gotta get him down to 10 pounds to board. It’s right there in the manual.

(Sandy checks the manual.)

Sandy: He’s right. Well done, Bob!

Bob (sarcastically): All those theory classes at baggage-handling school are finally paying off.

Sandy: I’m sorry Ms Gronkowski, but I’m afraid Dexter is too heavy to board. Perhaps he can remove a couple pounds of plumage?

Ventiko: Remove his plumage? Are you crazy? You’re telling me the only reason I can’t bring Dexter on a flight is his weight?

Bob: It’s also his size. With the exception of dogs, emotional support animals can’t be bigger than Mongooses. Look it up.

Sandy: Dammit Bob, you are so on today!

Ventiko: I can’t believe this. After spending all that money on a ticket for Dex, after all those calls to customer service telling them we were coming, and after all those hours spent training him to wink at me when he needs to poop, we still can’t board. This is an outrage! I’m calling my congressman!

Sandy: We sympathise, Ms. Gorbachev, but rules are rules. By the way, who is your congressman?

Ventiko: It’ll be Michael Grimm soon, and then you’re in trouble!

Sandy: Oh man, we are so screwed...

The morning of our departure, a friend asks my wife if she's excited about our trip to New Zealand. “It’s not so much excitement,” Angela replies, “as it is disbelief.”

It's true: After six months of planning, it seems impossible that the big day is finally here.

Such is the emotional irregularity of trip anticipation: We expect excitement, but we get incredulity. Inspiration soon gives way to insecurity, and elation morphs into depression at the drop of an airfare. The stages of this buildup are different for everyone, I’m sure, but here’s what transpired for me this time around:    

STAGE 1: INSPIRATION
New Zealand? Where do I sign!?! Our friends are moving there for a year -- to Motueka no less, which is sandwiched between a national park and wine country -- they’ve invited us to stay with them, we all love wine, we all love sandwiches, their kids are BFFs with our kids, we’ve always wanted to visit NZ, we’re due for a big family adventure, we all love wine, it could not be more perfect.

STAGE 2: BARGAINING
OK, if we travel over the holidays the kids will only miss a few days of school. They spend most of December crafting awkwardly non-denominational ornaments anyway. Luckily, you’ve got a bunch of paid vacation time, and my Oscar-winning screenplay will be complete any day now. And do we really need a functioning furnace this winter?

STAGE 3: OVERCONFIDENCE
‘Twas I who navigated the medina of Fez without a guide (and only got lost two-score and nine times). ‘Twas I who had the ski school pick up our kids from the chalet. ‘Tis I who has but thrice laundered his passport. A New Zealand quest? ‘Tis child’s play, I tell you!

STAGE 4: ANGER
Me: So let me get this straight: All 27 times I selected your super-discount airfare, someone else grabbed the seats while I was filling out the seven pages of passenger and credit-card info. And it just so happened that the next-best fare was two grand more than the one I wanted. Do you honestly think I’m going to go for the new fare? Who does that? Doesn’t this sound like a scam to you?

Them: Well sir, it’s a busy travel time for travel to Mexico, and…

Me: Mexico? We’re going to New Zealand!

Them: Ah yes, sorry sir, New Zealand. Excellent choice. As I was saying, it’s a busy time for travel to New Zealand, and…

Me: No, wait, I’ve changed my mind. What do you have for Molvania?

Them: Ah yes, Molvania. Excellent choice. It’s a busy time for travel to Molvania, and…

Click!

STAGE 5: ACCEPTANCE
I will let the rigours of travel planning wash over me like the oceans of guacamole in my soon-to-be-Oscar-winning screenplay. I know that sometimes those guacamolean seas will be chunky, as they are on the way to New Zealand when a customs official asks, “Are you carrying any fresh fruits or vegetables?”

“No.”

“Nuts?”

“No.”

“Meats?”

“No.”

“Honey?”

“No…”

“Hold up there good sir!” our 10-year-old exclaims. “Let’s back things up for a sec. Mother and Father, I distinctly recall you stowing several large jars of honey in your luggage. I believe it was the cheap non-organic stuff. Anyway, officer, I just want to make sure you have all the correct information at your disposal.”

There is an incredibly awkward silence. The customs official stares at us blankly. We stare back. Somewhere, off in the distance, a dog barks. Which is odd, considering we are in an airport. Then again, it’s probably one of those sniffer dogs searching for concealed honey.

Trouble is, we can’t truthfully correct our full-disclosure-obsessed child for fear that the maple syrup in our luggage will be confiscated. Maybe maple syrup is right after honey on the customs checklist!

That’s when I jump in: “No no sweetie, that wasn’t honey. It was my all-natural ball wax.”

The awkwardness relieved, we go on our merry way.

STAGE 6: EXCITEMENT
I often find that people say “you must be getting excited about your trip” long before you genuinely feel that way. For me, the excitement starts the moment I miss my last deadline.

STAGE 7: DISBELIEF
I think this is why so many people walk around airport departure levels in zombie-like states. It makes sense in arrivals, jet lag and all, but in departures it is the only reasonable explanation for the exorbitant price of duty-free bocce ball wax.

If you were Bill Gates would you fly coach? The world's richest person, along with Facebook co-founder Dustin Moskovitz and duty-free magnate Chuck Feeney, are just a few of the ridiculously wealthy executives who have been spotted on commercial airlines — and in economy class, no less.

That said, there's a good chance these billionaires have splurged on some of the paid privileges listed below, all of which can make a trip that much more enjoyable, productive and, in some cases, more economical.

Love the legroom
It can be hard to justify the cost difference between economy and business class seating, with the roomier, plusher option typically costing about twice as much. (First class, meanwhile, costs at least twice as much again.) But when business class sits empty, it's often possible to pay cash for an upgrade — if you can't finagle one for free, of course. These bump-ups cost as little as $25 on short domestic flights, and can be sought at check-in or at the gate. (Some airlines let passengers pay for these online or by phone as little as 24 hours before a flight.)

​Another option, available when you book tickets with carriers like JetBlue, Delta and United, is to pay a few bucks for a few extra inches of legroom at the front of the economy cabin or in exit rows. And if money's no object, well, there's always Emirates' first-class cabins (pictured above), where Bulgari amenity kits meet skin-hydrating loungewear.

Lounge at the airport
Airport and airline lounge amenities can include free snacks and refreshments, plush seats, TV, free Wi-Fi, business centres, and in some cases showers, beds and even spas. Indeed, some lounges are the stuff of business-travel lore, like Lufthansa's First Class Lounge in Frankfurt Airport, where the bar serves 80 different whiskey labels and departing passengers are chauffeured by Mercedes or Porsche limousines to their aircraft. Then there's the Cathay Pacific lounge in Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport, which is renowned for its delectable tapas.

​If you can't get into a lounge for free — with a business or first-class ticket, the requisite frequent-flyer status, or a friend who has access — an entrance fee in the $30-$60 range may be the best money you ever spent, especially if you're stuck on the ground for longer than usual. If shelling out for access becomes a regular occurrence, consider acquiring a credit card that grants it (more on this below), or joining a program like Priority Pass, which covers more than 1000 lounges in hundreds of cities for an annual membership fee that starts at about $120.

READ THE REST OF THE STORY IN THE GLOBE AND MAIL

"Have you ever seen the Northern Lights?" is a quintessentially Canadian question. And if you're stationed somewhere south of 60, the answer typically depends on being in the right place at the right time.

Venture further north, however, and the odds of spotting the aurora climb quickly. Indeed, when I was in Yellowknife a few Octobers ago, shimmering veils of colour danced across the sky every single night.

I admired the celestial spectacle from various NWT locations -- my hotel room, a gravel road, the viewing platforms of the quirky Aurora Village -- and was under the impression the experience was as good as it could realistically get.

Now, there may be an ever better way to see the aurora. Last month, Tourism Yukon, Air North and the Yukon Astronomical Society announced a new partnership to view the Northern Lights from 36,000 feet in the air aboard a private-chartered flight, the first of its kind in Canada. This will get passengers closer to the lights, which range in altitude from 80 to 600-plus kilometres, but more importantly will eliminate cloud cover and reduce light pollution.  

The flight out of Whitehorse starts at $950 and is set to take place on either Nov. 24 or 25, depending on the local aurora forecast. In addition to optional accommodations and flights to the Yukon capital, packages include a pre-flight welcome reception at the Kwanlin Dün Cultural Centre and a certificate from the Royal Astronomical Society of Canada stating that guests have crossed the Arctic Circle.

So that's TWO quintessentially Canadian questions sorted, then...

Ah, the joys of air travel. The poor guy who got dragged off a United Airlines flight the other day is just the latest example of passenger mistreatment. Incidents like these also compel many frequent flyers to share their own horror stories from the not-so-friendly skies, and I, for one, have a doozy:

It was Friday the 13th of January, 2012. My family and I were returning to frigid Toronto from Costa Rica on Continental Airlines flight 5199. Just after 10 pm, as the CRJ700 began its bumpy descent toward Pearson International, we received some shocking news: “Just to let everyone know,” the flight attendant chirped over the intercom, “we’ll deplane using the stairs tonight, so please watch your step and be sure to use the handrail.”

We were wearing light sweaters and jeans — donned during our layover in Houston — and flip flops. The kids, aged 2 and 5, were also sporting light pants and tops. We had planned for a chilly dash from Terminal 1 to our waiting SUV, which my father in law had generously piloted to Pearson. There were winter jackets for all of us in the trunk, which I was to briskly retrieve at the appointed curbside meeting spot.
What we had not planned for — not even considered, really — was the possibility of deplaning using the stairs.

A few minutes before the outrageous in-flight announcement, we had been informed that the weather in Toronto was overcast and windy, with a temperature of minus 12. Quickly realizing we were not dressed for any amount of time outdoors, I asked the attendant, “So, er, we have to go outside?”

He nodded. “Yes sir, we’ll be using the stairs.”

“I know,” I said, "but there will be a shuttle bus or something, right?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“But there’s a tunnel or something nearby, right?”

“Um, I think the tunnel is about 100 yards away.”

I stared at him incredulously. Then he added, “and I don’t think the tunnel is heated.”

“How long is the tunnel?” I asked, fearing the worst.

“Oh, you’ll be walking for a while,” came his vague reply.

Wrapping our sweaters around the girls, we watched as every other passenger on the plane — most of whom had come from Houston and were dressed appropriately — fled down the stairs and tromped briskly across the snowy tarmac toward the tunnel. I could feel my tropical tan being blasted off my skin as I stepped out of the plane and into the freezing night. I ran down the stairs, hastily assembled the kids’ stroller, grabbed our 2-year-old out of my wife’s arms and crammed her in. It felt decidedly surreal as I trucked across the tarmac pushing the stroller — kind of like a scene from The Last Place on Earth.


The tunnel offered little respite from the cold, so I quickly looked over my shoulder to make sure a polar bear had not taken my wife and firstborn before sprinting toward the heated tunnel another 200 metres or so away. I threw open the double doors, raced inside and immediately knelt down to check on the little one. Her lips were blue, her eyes wide and she was shivering all over. I plucked her out of the stroller and hugged her tightly, and seconds later she smiled with what looked like relief when her mom and sister burst into the warm tunnel.

It was then that I thought back to my final words as we left the plane: “We must look like pretty neglectful parents,” I said to the sympathetic crew, one of whom replied, “Not at all. There’s no way you could have known.”

Here lies the crux of my beef with the airline formerly known as Continental: Had we known this situation was even remotely possible, we could have planned accordingly. I have flown into Pearson many dozens of times, and have never deplaned using the stairs, let alone in the middle of January. Maybe the financially troubled airline was somehow forced, either logistically or financially, into using this ridiculous setup by an airport with some of the highest landing fees in the world. But had this possibility been flagged at check-in or at the gate in Liberia or Houston, we could have pulled extra clothing from our checked bags or purchased some Houston Texans sweatshirts at the airport. But no one said anything until it was much too late. Heck, the plane didn’t even have blankets on board.

Sending two underdressed adults into the chilly night is cruel, but forcing two small children into freezing conditions without adequate clothing borders on criminal.

In yet another example of airlines nickel-and-diming passengers with in-flight charges, InterWest Airways has announced plans to introduce fees for life vests, oxygen masks and the use of those inflatable slides that deploy when commercial aircraft ditch in water.

"With our competitors charging for basics like food, beverages, blankets and luggage, we feel the time is right to roll out a reasonable fee structure for our on-board life-saving equipment," said InterWest CEO Avril Dysloofa during a press conference at the company's headquarters in Chattanooga, Tenn.

The move is the latest in a steady stream of supplemental in-flight charges that started with meals and refreshments and has grown to encompass entertainment, pillows, blankets and carry-on luggage. Ireland-based Ryanair has even suggested that passengers should pay extra to use aircraft toilets. 

InterWest's pre-flight safety demonstrations will continue as usual, Dysloofa explained, but are now followed by complimentary screenings of Alive and Castaway. Passengers will then have the opportunity to purchase reusable life vests for $49.99 via seat-back touch-screens.

"Any passenger who enjoys boating or water sports — or appreciates the extra in-flight security of a personal flotation device — will find our vests deliver excellent value," she added.

For another $49.99, passengers will be issued keys to unlock the overheard compartments from which oxygen masks tumble in the event of a loss of air pressure. "Flight attendants will of course be on hand to assist children, dwarfs and vertically-challenged passengers who are unable to reach the locks from a seated position," Dysloofa added.

Lastly, colour-coded wristbands will identify passengers who have paid $49.99 for the convenience of using the inflatable emergency exit slides. "Not only are the slides invaluable tools for avoiding a watery or fiery death, but they beat the pants off anything at Wild Water Kingdom," Dysloofa said.

Officials from the U.S. Federal Aviation Administration were quick to comment. "IntraWest has really stumped us here," admitted spokeswoman Pauline Yorlegg. "I mean, who would have thought an airline would go this far? We don't have policy in place to prevent these fees, so I guess InterWest can go ahead until we draft something."

The announcement came amid celebrations surrounding InterWest's 10th anniversary. Fireworks followed the press conference, along with the unfurling of a giant banner emblazoned with the words: "Happy April Fool's Day!"

Gotcha? The scary thing is, it's not that unbelievable...

There’s a hobby for every taste: Stamp collecting, watercolour painting, My Little Pony role-play, sneaking onto commercial airline flights…

Say what? While there’s no convention for the latter (yet), the predilection for boarding planes sans ticket now has a standard bearer (and possible keynote speaker?) in Marilyn Hartman (pictured). According to news reports, Hartman, 64, was arrested at Chicago O'Hare International Airport recently after she was found in a restricted area without a ticket and with no legitimate reason for being there. Police charged her with misdemeanour criminal trespass and ordered her to appear in court on May 29.

The retired legal secretary has been arrested several times for attempting to stow away on flights – and has occasionally succeeded. Last year, for instance, she was jailed for sneaking onto a Southwest Airlines flight from San Jose to Los Angeles. (Which raises the question: Why would anyone want to sneak onto a Southwest Airlines flight? She must really be nuts.)

Hartman gets points for the frequency of her stowaway attempts, but loses points for style. Loitering in a departure lounge may be effective, but it lacks the freaky creativity of these three incidents:

Disguise in the skies: Airline passengers are told what to do if the cabin pressure drops or if a plane ditches in water, but what's the protocol for someone taking their face off? In 2010, an unnamed 20-something Asian man reportedly boarded an Air Canada 747 in Hong Kong disguised as an elderly Caucasian male. His disconcertingly realistic prosthetic mask (picture below) tricked staff at the gate — a 55-year-old American accomplice switched boarding passes with him — but flight attendants were apparently tipped off by his youthful hands en route to Vancouver. When questioned, he went into the bathroom and removed the outfit, emerging as a (presumably sweaty) refugee claimant and pulling the plug on what the Canada Border Services Agency called an “unbelievable case of concealment.”

Dead on departure: Even the bumbling duo in the Weekend at Bernie's movies never tried to get the titular corpse (pictured below) onto a commercial airliner. But that's just what Gitta Jarant and daughter Anke Anusic reportedly tried to do with the deceased body of Jarant’s 91-year-old husband, Kurt Willi Jarant, on their way to Berlin from Liverpool, England, in April, 2010. The women brought Kurt to John Lennon International in a wheelchair — and sporting sunglasses, of course — and when questioned about his condition claimed he was just sleeping (Monty Python fans will mention a dead parrot right about now). The women were arrested for failing to report a death — they were suspecting of trying to circumvent the costs associated with transporting a body — but authorities eventually decided not to prosecute. 

Wheel well wonder: Lastly, there are the increasingly frequent, and often tragic, cases of stowaways who hide in the wheel wells of aircraft. An especially miraculous case took place last year, when a teenaged runaway survived a five-hour flight from California to Hawaii. The 16-year-old Californian lad apparently passed out before temperatures in the wheel well plunged below minus 60 degrees – a.k.a. a warm February afternoon in Winnipeg – but regained consciousness about an hour after touchdown in Maui, where he was spotted by ground crews on the tarmac. There was no word on whether he had to pay for any of blankets he received…

I checked in for an upcoming Air Canada flight from Toronto to Kamloops,  B.C., earlier today, and for the first time in my life had the distinct displeasure of shelling out $25 (plus tax) for luggage that will not leave the country (I hope).
I'll have to do the same on the way back, too. I suppose I could have crammed a week's worth of clothing and gear into my carry-on -- stay tuned for more on my time at Sun Peaks, Kicking Horse and Revelstoke -- but then I'd have to ski topless or bottomless, or go the full monty like our friend pictured above, and nobody wants that. (Canada's ski industry can't be thrilled about new airline fees that make ski vacations less affordable, but that's another story.)
I have spent years bemoaning the rise of airline fees for previously complimentary services like in-flight meals, movies, blankets and pillows. Then came charges for checked luggage, first on flights to the States, and since November on WestJet's and AC's domestic routes as well.
All these extra fees once seemed understandable: Airlines were getting hammered financially in the wake of 9/11, jet fuel was relatively expensive, and passengers, for the most part, shopped for tickets based on price and little else. In short, carriers were looking to make a buck wherever they could, causing fees to jump by 1,200 per cent since 2007.
These days, however, I'm feeling a lot less sympathy. Oil prices have plummeted, yet many airlines have stated that there will be no corresponding reductions in fares or even in fuel surcharges. U.S. airlines, meanwhile, are projected to post a profit of around $20-billion in 2014. Air Canada, for its part, recently reported the best quarter in its history.    
Then there was my own ridiculous run-in with Air Transat earlier this year, and outrageous traveller tales like that of an Edmonton woman who faced a $1,000 fee when her Air France flight to Ebola-ravaged Sierra Leona got cancelled. Crazy, right? 
So I was already feeling decidedly surly towards air carriers before reading Tim Wu's brilliant story in the New Yorker. Wu calls out airlines for the “calculated misery” that degrades basic free services to the point where people want to pay to escape it.
It's sad that economy airline service has fallen so far since the turn of the century, but it's truly contemptible that airlines are using these low standards to introduce more fees. 
January is a time for idealistic resolutions, however, and in that spirit I propose that airline fees become a two-way street. Flyers pay for non-essential goods, services and upgrades, and airlines pay -- in the form of vouchers, cash credits or frequent-flyer miles -- when these "extras" fall short. A few examples:

WE PAY: For checked bags (insert sound of teeth grinding here).
THEY PAY: When those checked bags arrive late, not at all, or badly singed.
WE PAY: For a deli sandwich mid-flight.
THEY PAY: When said deli sandwich possesses the taste and texture of a boarding pass.
WE PAY: For blankets and pillows.
THEY PAY: When a flight attendant wakes us up more than, say, five times to tell us about the in-flight duty free shopping. ($105.99 for a camera pen? Sold!)
WE PAY: For in-flight movies.
THEY PAY: When the only options are Jack & Jill, New Year's Eve , or anything directed by Michael Bay.

Will this ever happen? Will I complete an Olympic triathlon? Such is the nature of resolutions...

The latest edition of Bloomberg Businessweek's "Airport Frustration Index" tabs YYZ as the seventh most aggravating air hub in North America. New York Laguardia is (deservedly) No. 1, followed by Newark Liberty, Washington Dulles, Chicago O'Hare, New York JFK and L.A. International.

Each airport received a frustration score of 1-100 based on the time it takes to get there; how easy it is to clear security; the quality of terminals and restrooms; amenities; and how often flights take off on schedule. Pearson gets hammered on the average drive time to and from downtown, which the study found to be 75 minutes (that's around $80 in an airport limo), the third-longest commute in North America. The Union Pearson Express rail link (pictured), slated to open in the spring of 2015, aims to cut this to around 25 minutes, which should improve YYZ's score. The one-way fares, meanwhile, look like they will come in at around $30 from downtown, which is outrageous. (More on this when the fare is actually announced.)

All other factors, besides on-time departures, are consolidated in a "Time at the terminal" category, where YYZ ranks seventh-worst. This is a bit like comparing passport-renewal offices -- they are all horrible -- but this rating seems a little unfair. I've never thought Pearson to be especially unpleasant. Perhaps survey respondents were in foul moods after the wretched, expensive commute.

The good news for Pearson -- and for all the Canadian airports listed -- is that on-time departures are relatively solid. (As the survey rightly notes: "Ultimately, the thing everyone wants most from any airport is to leave it.") No Canuck hub is among the worst 25 in this area (Toronto was 26th, at 81 per cent), with Ottawa, Vancouver and Montreal Trudeau tied for the three best on-time departure rates (at 85 per cent).

"O Canada" update, anyone? "The True North strong and free (and relatively reliable when it comes to airport departures)..." Sing it with me!

You know that Seinfeld episode where George plays Trivial Pursuit with the Bubble Boy and insists that a misprint -- "the Moops" instead of "the Moors" -- is a correct answer? That's how I felt midway through my phone conversation with Air Transat's supervisor of seat-selection.

Five days after my open letter to the airline's after-sales team, we quickly established that:
1. Phone tag has no redeeming qualities.
2. Requiring me to email scanned copies of boarding passes was pointless and unnecessary. 
3. Customer relations personnel need to be more attentive to meeting the needs of families when aircraft are changed at the last minute...etc.

Yes, yes and yes. "But what about the refund?" I asked, reiterating the only point I have been trying to make: When a family pays to sit together, and the aircraft and seat layouts change -- making it impossible for the family to sit together -- the family should at least get their money back. Simple.

I know all about the refund runaround. We all do. It is customer relations' job to avoid giving money back. I get that. But when you pay for something, and you don't get that thing, well, the end result isn't debatable.

Apparently, however, these situations need to be looked at "on a case-by-case basis," the supervisor said, allowing that "we need to be better at applying our judgement."

"There's no judgement involved," I countered, again stating the obvious: Groups travelling together book seats together because they want to sit together. If they can't sit together, but paid to do so, they should get a refund. Automatically. It doesn't matter if the seat numbers are the same, as they were with us. It's the intent of the booking that must be honoured. 

"What would be ideal would be to advise you of the change in advance so we can make arrangements before you get to the airport," the supervisor continued.

"But that doesn't matter," I replied, pointing out that I wouldn't rebook a family flight at the last minute unless we were slated to dangle from a wing. "The Moops" indeed.

Gradually, however, we started making progress. "We will take more caution to analyze cases and listen to passengers based on their reasoning," the supervisor said, "instead of saying, 'Nope, you were rebooked as equivalent' -- meaning with the same seat number -- 'so you're not entitled to a refund.'"

It soon became clear that this was as far as I was going to get: Air Transat won't automatically grant refunds in cases like ours, but they won't automatically dismiss them either. 

Is that progress? It is if you believe this will actually happen. Just to be sure, please email me if Air Transat turns you down for a refund in a case like this, and I'll remind them of their pledge.