I sat on the runway in Southern California for about forty-five minutes this morning. I fell asleep, then woke up still on the ground. Forty-five minutes that would prove to cause me to miss my short flight from Atlanta to Nashville. Forty-five minutes that would force me to walk from Gate B19 to gate A33, which happens to be at the end of a different terminal. Once getting to gate A33 I was told that my flight to Nashville was still boarding but was boarding from gate T1, which happens to be at the very end of yet another terminal. By the time I made it there, the flight was gone and I had been booked at a flight at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. Huh.

“What about a hotel?”
“You can have one at a discounted rate, but Delta won’t pay for the whole thing.”
“How much is a discounted rate?”
“Seventy dollars.”
“Not much of a discount. Shouldn’t Delta pay for more since it was, you know, their fault and all that I am here?”
“It’s not really Delta’s fault.”
“What?”
“It’s not really Delta’s fault. Maybe the weather was bad. Delta can’t control the weather.”
“Well, the weather in Southern California was fine, how was it here?”
“It might have been raining.”
“Might have been? Was it raining when you came to work?”
“No”
“Can I leave now?”

So instead of hanging out in Gate A33 (that’s right, the gate I started in) for twelve and a half hours, Twitter came to the rescue. Thank you everyone that helped out bombarding Carlos’ phone with suggestions to rescue me, including you Daley.

So here I am, sitting on the Wittaker couch watching one of the Ocean movies, but haven’t been able to figure out which one. Beats the heck out of an airport floor. Thanks Carlos, and no thanks Delta. Eventually I will be home.