I’m supposed to be on an airplane right here right now Saturday August 18, 2018, 8:12am as I start to type this, flying to the East Coast with my son for a visit with family. Only the flight was cancelled at 10:48PM last night, after I’d gone to sleep. So I didn’t see the notice until 4:10AM today. We went to the airport anyway because: (1) I firmly believe you never know when the next available flight will be too-soon-to-otherwise-make-it anyway; (2) I do not believe in certain kinds of negotiations by telephone – fraught with the perils of disconnects, accents, and “you are the 150th(???) caller in line, we appreciate your patience” – and so much more effective with the nuances of personal contact endearingly face-to-face. Rescheduling accomplished, we went home, waiting for an horrendous 11:10PM flight. My son shambled back to bed, imitating a sleep-deprived zombie to perfection.
Ever notice how one mischance knocks over the dominoes? Except of course they don’t fall in a straight line. I finished rescheduling taxis, updating the relatives, rebooking the hotel, printing out the new luggage tickets…. And obviously I’m on high alert physiologically, which means a nap is beyond the impossible dream.
I’m going to make it on lots of caffeinated tea and finding the easiest ridiculous low-maintenance work I can imagine. DEFINITELY going to have the biggest hot chocolate I can find at the airport. Sometimes that’s the best anyone can do. Michelle Wicks-Cypher, Guardian Agent Extraordinaire of Travel There and Back, you’d be proud of me.
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