My friend Mike is finally back home, safe and sound, in Seattle where he belongs. Getting him there turned out to be an adventure and a half.
On Tuesday, I took him to the airport (JFK) under the impression that his flight was in fact leaving that day. It wasn't just me; he was under that impression, too. We made it all the way to the airport before my Something Ain't Right senses kicked in; I pulled the car over to the side of the service road and looked at his schedule.
Thursday. Not Tuesday.
"Oh," we chorused, and I put the car back into gear. On the plus side, that was two more days that he had to plow through my comic collection. Back home we went, and he spent most of that night and the whole of Wednesday in my company.
Needless to say, he got a lot of reading done.
Come Thursday, I dropped him off at the airport once more, and then four hours later discovered he'd spent 2 1/2 hours sitting in the plane on the tarmac ... with no departure time available. Finally they forced everyone to deplane and sit around while they tried to figure out what to do. "New York doesn't want me to leave," he cried out to me over the phone.
They finally put him and everyone else sound for Seattle on a flight that arrived at something like 2:30 in the morning. He's now at home, sound asleep, and will probably be that way for at least another week.
New York City
Other Lives Of The Mind