Marc

I should be somewhere else. Other than here. Seriously. What's wrong with the world where airlines can tell you what and what you can't do? I'm in a hotel in Arlington Heights, Illinois. I have no clean underwear, no clean socks, no t-shirts, no new pants to put on in the morning. By the grace of the hotel I have a toothbrush and deodorant. Without them I would be without. I stood in the damned airport for nearly five hours, delayed, delayed, surrounded by thousands. I couldn't read. I could concentrate on anything. All I could do was stare at the ticket counter and keep an eye out for attractive women. At 10:55, three hours after I was supposed to have left they finally cancel the flight. Now I'm stuck.

I work in Pacific time tomorrow. I should be in Spokane, Washington at this very moment. According to schedule, I should've arrived there ten minutes ago. But I didn't. I'm still here. I only like travelling when it goes well. Who the fuck gave the airlines the right to refuse someone the right to their bags? Seriously.

I will stop now.