There are many ways to kill Michael Morrison

You could cancel The Office or 30 Rock anytime in the next 20-25 years.
You could tell me I am never allowed to see my nephew and niece again.
You could tell me that I am destined to spend the rest of my life living in Calgary.

But this weekend I learned that throwing Typhoon Neoguri directly at Michael is NOT a way to kill him.
Let me explain.

This weekend some friends and I decided to head to the coastal town of Macau on the Southwestern side of China. From Hong Kong it is only a 45 minute turbo fairy. Late last week we heard rumblings of an early Typhoon nearing Hong Kong. We foolishly thought: “Screw Hong Kong, we are going to Macau, who cares what happens in Hong Kong.”

Not one of us thought to look at the weather in Macau. The Typhoon scale is a little different than hurricanes. It actually goes up to 12. When we left Hong Kong it was a T3 on the scale. No biggie. When we docked 45 minutes later, Macau had been upgraded to a T8-9 and prepping for a direct hit.

Let’s just say that terminal was a little chaotic. Furthering hindering us, there was no English in Macau. We had obviously been spoiled by Hong Kong. The ferry’s had stopped running. All the shuttles to the hotels were being pulled. The lines for Taxis were both unorganized and never ending. The rain was all drenching us and the winds were intense. It was bad.

Worse yet is 5 people trying to make on decisions. My friends Kim, Matt, Nadine and Krista and I quickly decided that our shuttle to our hotel wasn’t showing up and the taxis were simply not an option. After some more chaotic moments we jumped on a shuttle. Any shuttle. We had no idea where we were going but we had to get away from the terminal. It was getting worse by the second.

After pretending we were going to check into this random hotel we ventured back outside to hail another cab. Apparently we weren‘ t only ones with this idea. Dozens of people had also thought up our not so clever strategy. This is when I brought up ‘The End of the Bar night strategy’. Don’t stand and wait for a cab where everyone else is. Go one or two blocks up. Get the cabs before they get to the hotel. So that’s what we did.

There was just one problem. The cabs weren’t even stopping anymore. All hope of ever being dry again was quickly fading so in a moment of desperation I jumped in front of cab. Like full on had to stop or he would hit me. This would have gotten me killed in Beijing, add it to the list. I jumped in his cab and did the international symbol for please. Ok, ok, ok I begged. He relented and begrudginly drove me and my 4 friends to our hotel, which had already sealed up for the storm. They quickly let us in and showed up a map of the Typhoon. Their words” Macau, very bad.”

So what were going to go do now. Every thing was closed. We couldn’t even get to the world’s biggest casino because the bridge was closed. So we did what every maritimer (+ 1 BCer) would do. Drank. Matt and I braved the storm to run to the 7-11 and buy as many Carlsberg we could possibly carry. I can honestly say I have never seen rain like that before. Never ever. It was insane. The next night my clothes were still soaking wet.

After several hours of drinking and sharing tales of bravery we noticed that the storm looked like it had calmed down. We quietly ventured outside and saw that the rain had relented and the winds had calmed. We quickly got dressed in our fancy clothes and said the night was a total wash (PUN!) and we weren’t going to let this storm ruin our fun! \

Since we couldn’t make it to the big casino we decided to make it to the next biggest one which was just down the street. We arrogantly walked at a slow pace. That was until the wind and rain make a surprise return. We like to think that was the eye of the storm.

Anyway by the end of the night we had many a story to tell. Drying our shirts off in the bathroom dryers, finding money, doubling said money, enjoying both the largest carlsberg ever and the worse wine ever. And maybe when we are all a little older and when my mom isn’t reading I’ll tell you about how Matt and I ended up at a bar where we were the only white guys. Then something happened the computers were turned off, the music was turned off, the lights were turned off and Matt and I were led up a back stairwell that led to a garage with only padlocked doors.

Like a said: for another time.

Mike Morrison