Half Way There

We crossed the US border and drove on to the Buffalo airport through a howling blizzard in the 4:00AM darkness. A self-sacrificing friend had volunteered to take me. Arriving the prescribed two hours before my flight, I checked in, passed quickly through security and sat down to wait. Not until everyone was boarded and settled into their seats did the captain announced that the flight was canceled. His altimeter was not functioning. I could see how that might be important.

A hundred and fifty or so grumbling passengers trooped off the plane and back to the departure lounge. Two hours later the airline staff finally informed me of something I already knew, that they could not get me to Atlanta in time to catch my connecting flight to Managua. I was offered a seat on a 10:30 flight to Atlanta, three coupons for the airport fast food meals of my choice and a hotel room overnight to await tomorrow's flight to Nicaragua. For a moment I considered demanding an upgrade to first class, but couldn't be bothered arguing with anyone at that point. Instead, I went and had breakfast. When I returned, there was a lineup of some four hundred people waiting to be processed by security. For the next forty minutes I watched the ones in front of me in line shuffle forward, sullenly kicking their bags ahead of them.

The 10:30 flight did actually take off, but at 11:15. By 1:00 PM I was in Atlanta, where an unusual cold snap had temperatures hovering just below freezing. The hotel room is just what you would expect, with a view of strip malls and fast food joints. It was suggested to me that I did not want to venture outside in this neighbourhood after dark.

Tomorrow is a short ride to the airport at a much more reasonable hour, followed by a four hour flight to Managua. And I will get an upgrade.