So here we sit, another travel season starting.  My direct flight from DFW to LGA has officially been delayed due to the monsoon that’s happening outside.  No surprises there.  As my friend Jason put it: “Somehow your direct flight will be rescheduled, re-routed, and delayed three times. You will spend the next 12 hrs sitting in two or three terminals in Mexico trying to sell shower curtain rings as earrings so you can get back home for Thanksgiving”.  

He has a point. 

 Eventually I’ll get around to posting all of my now-infamous travel horror stories — like the time that I helped 10 of my coworkers get rebooked on a flight out of Reno, only to get bumped off of that flight myself, or the time I was selected for secondary screening when leaving Roatan. 

We just boarded the plane, so for now, I’ll just take this 30-minute delay as an odd bit of good luck, and hope I don’t run into Del Griffith.
Scratch that, our plane hasn’t even been fueled yet, and the bags from the inbound flight haven’t been removed either. Kinda makes one wonder why they even bothered letting us on.  They’re offering to let us deplane, but that sounds like just the sort of trickery the karma gods would play on me — “Sure, Mr. Fielder, feel free to deplane and enjoy this short delay in relative comfort; maybe grab a snack or spend some time in the Admiral’s Club. That would be a LOT nicer than hanging out in this cramped, hollow metal tube, wouldn’t it? Meanwhile, we’ll get your plane all nice and ready for you.”  Of course the minute you fall for that Siren song, BAM! The gate’s shut and there’s no way you’re getting on this flight, buddy! 

Hey Jase; I hate your guts. But we should totally write the script for Planes, Trains & Automobiles 2: Travel Boogaloo.

More later, I’m sure. 

-/KF, PTT.