I’m a pretty slap-dash traveller, and there are moments, like when I’m onboard an aeroplane, and it’s pulled away from the terminal and an announcement comes over the loudspeaker that due to the weather, our take-off has been delayed for at least 25 minutes.
(I love when they delay things after packing a hundred people into a tin can. I feel like a little kid getting sucked into an involuntary round of sardines. It’s fantastic.)
I always get this fleeting thought of “Wow, I sure hope that I have more than 25 minutes between flights…” to which the answer is *always* of course I do, because the automated programs that book flights don’t usually let you book flights that leave you with only 15 minutes to get to the right gate.
I like it when algorithms have my back. Math! It’s awesome! (and I’m really glad that other people are good at it, because it’s really not my best subject.)
I made it to my final flight intact and on time, only to find out that it had been pretty massively over-booked.
Another one of the joys of solo travelling: I can change plans if I need to, no problems.
I volunteered to be bumped to a different flight.
Turns out that means I volunteered to be bumped to the same flight, only tomorrow.
Let’s hear it for a night in L.A.!