Except for a spot of air turbulence, my flight home was thoroughly uneventful. At least, it was until the plane landed and its weary passengers began trundling toward the baggage claim area. As I stepped onto the escalator, I noticed that the man standing immediately before me was wearing a white spacesuit. With sequins. And a topknot. Distracted as I was by nicotine withdrawal, it took me a minute to realize who it was…
For the non-Quebeckers among you, Rael is the self-proclaimed leader of the Raelians, the UFO movement-cum-sex cult that made international headlines when they claimed to have successfully impregnated a woman with a cloned embryo. The result of the experiment, a baby named Eve, has since faded into obscurity, but the group remains a potent symbol of the loopier side of my adopted province.
As I watched Rael collect his disappointingly ordinary suitcases from the baggage carousel, I became convinced that his presence on my flight was a sign. But of what? Here, I was stumped, and honestly, I still am. Nevertheless, I am quite certain that flying with Rael meant something, and, whatever it was, that it gave me the perfect ending to my trip. Fuck, I’ll take Rael over an existential crisis any day. Wouldn’t you?