God bless the airlines.  A trip was scheduled.  A simple trip from NYC to Dulles, VA.  You would think we had asked for a shit storm…

It all started with a little rain and a 7PM flight on a Friday.  Was it going to be possible to get a taxi?  Well what did I care – I had a smarter plan!

So I left the office at 4:55PM thinking I am being smart taking a BUS to the airport.  Yes a BUS.  Not a taxi, not the subway, not a car service.  A bus.  It was cheaper, more efficient and would definitely be on time.  I am a smarty.

Oh how wrong I was.

The bus practically broke down.

I smelled like an ashtray because the bus smelled like an ashtray.

The bus had a BEEP BEEP BEEPPPP BEEEEEEEEEEP it kept making.  Apparently it did not have enough of some kind of "pressure."  The driver was radioing headquarters "I don’t have enough pressure."  Headquarters said "Try to get more pressure."

But nevermind!  Stinking like ciggies and going mad from the BEEP BEEP, we were somehow on our way…but to where you might ask?

Hell!  I would reply.  We were on our way to hell. 

Why hell?  You might ask.

Well, halfway into said bus ride, I get a fateful call.

"Hello!" Says a Pollyanna-like passive aggressive super sweet computer voice.  "HELLO Ms. Dixon, your flight is canceled!!"

Mind you, at this point on the this-is-a-good-idea bus, we are screaming towards LGA (screaming after sitting in dreadful traffic for 30 minutes) with no hope of turning around.  My husband points out that indeed yes, had we taken a cab we could have turned around.

Well, yes indeed TRUE.  My brilliant idea to take the BUS. 

So what to do when your flight gets canceled and you still have to go to the airport?  Well I spend a lot of time in airports and consider myself an expert.  Airports can ROCK if you are fun.  We think we are fun, so it kind of rocked (not really, but occasionally I like to lie to myself.  Self delusion is a very important tool.)  When in doubt, have a beer.  So we did.  We had a beer.  It was great.  Great beer.  We also had pizza.  After an hour and a half of "Chillin’ at LGA," husband said "I need to get out of here."

So we got in a taxi (not the BUS) and went home.  We had one regret.  We forget to get massages in the Brookstone massage chairs.  Next time. 

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