My flight leaves in just under an hour, and I’ve missed my final exit I need to take to get into BWI.
It’s not unexpected: I’m well known in my own little circles for having no sense of where I am. I don’t get angry. Okay–I do stare down someone in the car next to me, but they don’t see it and the impact is remarkably low. Still, I loop around another exit to get back on the highway and make the exit. I park in the long term parking, telling myself that I’ll remember where I put my car, but knowning it’s a lie.
On the bus to the airport, I’m flanked by a family whose daughters speak a mix of lyrical Japanese and perfect Valley Girl English. They are beautiful in only the way a stereotypical image can be while traveling. Getting through airport security is instant, as is getting on the plane. I guess I didn’t look enough like a polo player.
But here’s where it got interesting. Flight 255, coming out of Baltimore for Fort Slaughterdale, was delayed because one passenger decided to threaten a stewardess just before takeoff. Because a seat in front of him was stuck in the recline position.
It was magical, and that’s all I feel I need to say about that.
The rest of the night was full of trips to the airport, meeting new fraaans, and really wishing that Lomax would just stop putting his bike together at 2 in the morning so I can sleep.
The morning came too quickly, but breakfast was hot and full of polo players discussing brackets and looking blankly at Faux News. The shuttle is here and Lomax (1/2 of my room-mate BFFs) is just about ready.
Here we go.