A scenic drive to SFO and then into the maw of the air travel system. Gate reassigned. Reassurance that we're still heading out. An old man sits beside me. He unwraps a turkey sandwich at 8:10 AM local time and masticates it slowly. Then he sneezes wet pieces of it all over my laptop screen, an event to which he seems oblivious. Then he flosses his teeth. Then our plane is declared hors de combat for mechanical reasons. People are agitated. Those with international connections are sent to another place for reassignment. Announcements are made; we are in limbo. I contact my travel guy. He says we're scheduled for a 10 AM departure. I tell the gate agent this; news to him. 10 minutes later he announces that we've commandeered an inbound-from-LA plane are scheduled for a 10 AM departure. Perhaps this will happen. I am centered down into that grim detached-but-watchful travel mode that keeps one sane in airports. Did I mention that I won closest-to-the-pin contest on the Old Course yesterday?

Comments

[johnny rocket]

well, it has been said that he with the shortest putter must stand closest to the pin.

[beth]

You can officially rename your laptop, the snot-top. :)