For the duration of my visit, wave after wave of
ferocious storms swept across the Philadelphia metro area. The weather was no
different when it came time to leave; not surprisingly the blue lights that
signaled a full ground stop were in full view when the cab pulled to the curb.
“You’re going to have a long night,” the cab driver told me, helpfully, before
speeding off in a driving rain. Indeed. Naturally, however, it would be hours
before the flight would be canceled. After waiting for an hour for the gate
agent to rebook me on a flight the following morning, I was faced with the
option of sleeping in the terminal or queueing for a room at the airport hotel.
Obviously I opted for the latter, hoping again that my prospective employer would not
honestly expect a job candidate to sleep in the terminal. (At the time I was
correct; nearly a decade later, I’m not so sure that equation still holds
true.)
In the wee hours of the morning, on one of the first flights down
the runway, I headed toward home, via O’Hare. Here I was met with a mechanical
delay – one of the seats was broken and, although this was not a full flight,
we could not board until the issue was resolved – followed by one of the inexplicable
delays for which that airport is notorious. Settled into 1C the flight attendant
facing me shrugged her shoulders and said, “You know what they say about this
airport, don’t you?” I did not. “Time to spare, fly through O’Hare.” She smiled
and opened her book.