(Excerpt from my blog on The Huffington Post.)
Talking about your travel debacles is about as appealing as talking about your dreams. So I’ll be brief. I missed my flight the night before last, a late-night flight from Salt Lake City, after two prior flights, en route to Montana where I live. They shut the door in my face. There was crying and swearing involved. One of the lovely things about living in a town with a small airport: they hold the last plane of the evening. They know their passengers have paid their dues in high prices and multiple flights to get to that last leg over the Rockies, which will certainly go bumptey bump in the night. And they’re decent human beings about it. Usually.
This was the day before the busiest travel day in the United States. This was after a week of being gone from my family on a business trip in Miami, which is a great place for a business trip, so I’m not complaining. Put it this way: I’m just glad that the biggest Book Fair in the country isn’t in Fargo. But if it had been, I likely wouldn’t have been wearing sandals to lunch earlier that day, and I wouldn’t have forgotten to change into shoes, which I wouldn’t have packed in my roller bag and checked.
Read more here.