Travel Curse: Rebirth
I am home. Now let us never speak of this again.
2011-01-02
Alright, So We'll Speak Of It Once
You know, in a way it's reassuring. I'm not sure I would know how to adapt to a universe where ludicrously bad things did not happen to or around me every time I travel. It would be weird, to say the least.
Okay, it wasn't as bad as all that. It's just that we got stuck sitting on the tarmac in Los Angeles for so long that I missed my connecting flight to San Francisco. By the time I got off the plane and across the airport to my gate, they'd closed the doors and wouldn't let me on. So I went and made sad faces at the incompetent customer service guy until he put me on the (only) later flight, and then I bummed around the airport for awhile waiting for my new plane and wishing any of the cafes were open. Rough coming into San Francisco, because of all the rain and fog, and it took so long for my suitcase to come I thought they'd lost it (incompetent customer service guy having been somewhat baffled by my luggage tags).
Then had to wait outside in the wet for a shuttle for a half hour - I think I did something wrong here, I'm pretty sure there was a dispatch desk or something I should have checked in at so they could call a shuttle for me. But luckily another group waiting there was going to Stanford too, so when the driver asked around I started waving and shouting and it all worked out okay, in the sense that I got home. At two in the morning. It's a good thing I decided to go in for the shuttle in the first place, because by the time I got my bags and was ready to leave the airport the very last train of the night would already have left, and then I would have been properly fucked.
Remind me never to take an evening flight again.
Okay, it wasn't as bad as all that. It's just that we got stuck sitting on the tarmac in Los Angeles for so long that I missed my connecting flight to San Francisco. By the time I got off the plane and across the airport to my gate, they'd closed the doors and wouldn't let me on. So I went and made sad faces at the incompetent customer service guy until he put me on the (only) later flight, and then I bummed around the airport for awhile waiting for my new plane and wishing any of the cafes were open. Rough coming into San Francisco, because of all the rain and fog, and it took so long for my suitcase to come I thought they'd lost it (incompetent customer service guy having been somewhat baffled by my luggage tags).
Then had to wait outside in the wet for a shuttle for a half hour - I think I did something wrong here, I'm pretty sure there was a dispatch desk or something I should have checked in at so they could call a shuttle for me. But luckily another group waiting there was going to Stanford too, so when the driver asked around I started waving and shouting and it all worked out okay, in the sense that I got home. At two in the morning. It's a good thing I decided to go in for the shuttle in the first place, because by the time I got my bags and was ready to leave the airport the very last train of the night would already have left, and then I would have been properly fucked.
Remind me never to take an evening flight again.