The voucher was good for one meal in any restaurant in any Canadian airport for an entire year. Printed on the same paper stock as the plane ticket, I shuffled one in front of the other like it was the set-up to a card trick. A large group of Chinese children wearing a uniform of some sort hovered over their smartphones, vouchers in hand, bumping into each other playfully as they waited. Our flight had been delayed thanks to mechanical issues and the vouchers were Air Canada’s penance for us having to wait.
The elderly couple next to me were taken with the kids. “It can’t be a table tennis team, there’s just too many of them.” The woman said to her husband. He nodded and looked to be doing the math in his head. She leaned over to me and pointed at one of the young boys; the arms of his glasses were missing, replaced with pieces of string that were tied around his ears, small knots dangling like earrings. “Those Asians are so inventive, huh?” I looked at my voucher and wondered if the Whitehorse airport had any good eats.