Yesterday I flew to Atlanta for a short not-work trip. Had I instead gotten in my car and driven in the other direction on I-40, eventually joining with I-85, I would have arrived at my hotel sooner. Of course, this would mean having driven for six hours, having to pay to park in Atlanta, and having to drive back tomorrow, but it still gives a sense of things. We boarded the plane for takeoff and everything was in order. Then during their final checks the pilots discovered an electrical failure of some kind. That meant we deplaned, and after turning everything off and back on again didn’t solve the problem we were forced to wait for a spare part that was delivered on the next flight coming in from Atlanta. The irony was not lost on me.

When we reboarded some three hours later, I was next to two different people than those who had been in my row earlier. Mind you, those people were also on the plane, just a few rows up. I don’t know where the new ones came from. Presumably, there were other flight delays and people were shuffled around. It was just odd. Then as we descended, the pilots aborted the approach and we climbed into the skies again as a downpour had temporarily inundated the runway. I just laughed. There was nothing else to do. We circled and landed on the next approach a few minutes later.

Since it was a Tuesday, I was able to keep my same dinner plans even if they were rather delayed. I don’t know if it was the delays, the air blowing directly down onto my table, or how loud the place was, but I wasn’t able to enjoy the food like I’d imagined. Alas, that’s not why I’m here. Today is.