3:30 am, suburban PA.
On mornings like these, I am alternately jazzed by my ability to tiptoe around the house, shower and make coffee and slip out the door in heels, unheard – but also super depressed at the fact that I’m in heels and up at the same time as all the reflective-green-eyed-night creatures on the road. Man do I hate these pre-sunrise flights.
On the plane by 5:15. Wheels up at 5:30 to JFK. But not today. Mechanical issue. Everybody off. Next gate over, the 7:30 flight to JFK starting to fill up. Walk over – can I get on this flight? Nope, full. Now 6:30 – walk over to 7:30 waiting area again. Help me? Nope.
Guy from my 5:30 flight goes over to 7:30 gate agent , flashes priority status. Walks right on. I’m incredulous. Mouth gaping. Gate agent catches my eye, promptly looks away.
For the next 2 minutes I imagine a narrative where I tear down the boarding bridge, knock this guy out behind the knees, careen over him to get to the last remaining seat, and jump into it just as the door closes and we taxi away.
Given that we are so close to the holidays, however, I will try to be a better person and let it go. But if the business-travel karmic universe favors me AT ALL, that guy’s seat is in the last row, doesn’t recline, and is perfectly positioned to receive all the bathroom smells on the way to NYC.
Journey On, Janes.