On Friday I had the unique opportunity to spend 4 entire days in the Atlanta-Hartsfield airport . . . or so it felt. My flight back to Seattle was delayed as if it were a presidential election in Cuba. The explanations were vague at best and we all figured out that it must’ve been mechanical since they swapped out planes 3 freakin’ times over a period of 7 hours! Yep, 7 hours of “delay” – which in human time (not airport time) feels like I sat there through the entire Clinton Administration. At some point you have to quit calling it a “delay” and declare an entire new flight. Didn’t really leave ya with a big warm fuzzy when boarding finally started.
The funny part was that the “new” plane was a totally different configuration so some poor lady with a clipboard had to reassign seats to the not-so-pleasant customers who felt better knowing that they’d waited so long only to be told they had NO shot at sitting near their family. Also, the plane was overbooked so they were begging for people to fly the next day. (someday I need someone to explain how overbooking makes sense – we should try that in dentist offices or golf courses….) Since it almost was the next day already I volunteered That night was spent in a questionable nearby hotel and I made it home the next morning roughly 24 hours after I initially arrived at the Hartsfield airport.. But strangely the northwest didn’t feel quite like home anymore since I am now an official resident of Georgia, having spent so much time there, and we Georgians are a patient bunch who love our Jimmy Carters, bruised peaches, and KFCs.