See Jon. See Jon ordering an abundance of food for room service the night before we left that dreamy, faraway place called the Caribbean.
See Layne's face on Tuesday evening only a few hours into what we shall hithertoafter refer to as The Atlanta Ordeal. I am looking Rough, people.
I shan't go into the nuances of the last 48 hours (because who, really, is counting.)
Being stuck in an airport isn't the worst thing in the world. And you can ask anyone, starting with my lovely mum, how I deal with extraneous circumstances. In general I laugh and don't let it bother me. We had fun in that once upon a 24-hours-in-the-Johannesburg Airport, right Savannah?
Yesterday I spent my time plowing through a bit of my overwhelming inbox and unsuccessfully calling CNN and AP, trying to get hired to write a story. Life was good.
But today we keep meeting people who only landed in Atlanta last night who are getting onto earlier Toronto flights today than we are.
Delta, know this- I am coming for you.
And this morning, after a daunting score of
Delta 17, Grimes 0,
I did let the grumps come in for a few minutes when a stranger (unknowingly) stole my seat beside Jon and I was given the wrong muffin and drink all in the same 5 minute period. It was just too much.
Did I mention that we didn't really sleep our last night in Punta Cana because I was sick?
I'm sure everyone in that 2 row section of Gate 40 thinks I am a fatty B. Sorry world.
They did give us a travel kit which lacked any sort of eye mask but contained a sweet XL "Skyteam" t-shirt and comb which we get to keep forever.
We were also able to hang with a fellow traveler on night #2 and that was The Best.
And we have
spent more money than we can let ourselves think about eaten lots of wonderful, greasy carbs and have been grateful for full bellies, a roof over our heads and that we are at least together.
Hopefully the next time you hear from me I'll be the north side of the border.