Let Me Make the Switch

Time plays tricks on my mind.  I was up at three.  Plenty of time.  I knew I had a flight at eight.  Plenty of time.  And in my early morning fuzzy mind I was convinced I needed to leave around six.  My wife checked in at five.  Yeah, I know.  We’ve got time.  And I returned to the task I was in the middle of until I realized that we didn’t have time.  We were going to have to hurry.  It takes nearly two hours to drive down to Newark Liberty Airport from Poughkeepsie. 

"You must get gas,"  said the Mrs.  I got gas.  She'd be driving the car back after my older one and I got out, so fair-enough, that wasn't negotiable.  And after I filled-er-up, I was amazed to find myself sailing along Route 9, with nothing but green lights for further than I ever had in my life.  87 had no traffic and it was going to be close.

Call United.  They'll get me on a later flight.  “There’s one leaving an hour later.”  “Oh that’s great.”  “Yeah.  Let me make the switch.  Oh wait.  It’s delayed for ten hours.”  “We’ll I definitely don’t want that.  Please leave me on the flight I had.  I'll take my chances”  “I can’t.  I've already made the switch for you sir.  Your original flights are gone.”  "Really."  

The plane was delayed two more times so that there was a thirteen hour late, departure.  We ate food.  The waitress mentioned she was from “Eastern Europe”  “Really? Where?” “Georgia”  Ahh, well, we had something to talk about then, certainly.  I could say “gmadlobt,” and smile.  There you go.  Yes.  This certainly isn’t like Georgian food.  No.  This isn’t like Georgian wine.  Our new friend could only agree. 

Rather tired now at the baggage claim in LAX.   The last time I arrived in LA this late, someone was here to pick me up.  That was easier.  He drove.  We talked about The Jam and The Beatles.  This time, at two in the morning, my older daughter and I ambled around looking for the bus stop to take me to the car rentals. 

Sunday 7/29/18