Just this past weekend, my friend Ativan (tm) and I took a trip from Columbus to Philadelphia and from Philadelphia to... points north.
I keep Ati between 45 and 70 degrees Fahrenheit, and she keeps me from losing my mind and clawing the tiny tin walls of small airplanes and ultimately being tased and kicked off and made to walk.
We were doing just great--reading magazines, staring into space, etc etc...until just before we were set to land in Bangor, and the pilot informed us that the airport was closed due to icy conditions, and we were going to have to land somewhere else because we didn't have enough fuel to keep circling over Augusta.
And for a moment I thought, Oh oh please Lord, won't someone just tase me?
So we landed in Portland, where we got some gas, sat on the tarmac for a long time, and were then ushered OFF the plane and into Portland International Jetport, (also closed), where we all kicked and scratched our way toward the vending machine, hoping to get the last tube of Pringles. I won. Kiss my chips, Amir.
Then we got on a bus.
And after only a few hours, we rolled into Bangor Airport at 12:30 am. And Uncle Geoff, God bless him, was there to greet me, and shuttle us safely back to their warm house. Where Aunt Lucy had apparently gotten a jump on some filing that needed to be done. At 1:15 in the morning. She's unstoppable.
So then I ate a traditional bowl of welcome oatmeal, and started to chat, but Pierre tugged on my arm and told me he had a better idea.