Monday, April 27, 2009

Dazed and Confused

My flight was booked for 6:50 a.m. Friday morning.  I had to work until 3:30 a.m. Thursday so I assumed I would simply stay awake until I made it to the airport and on the plane.  My plan failed.  

I don't know exactly where my plan was faultee, but it seems it was somewhere between the multiple shots of jager and the trip to the strip club at 4 a.m.  I pulled up in front of my house at 5:15 and realized I had about thirty minutes before I needed to leave for the airport.  I walked in, threw the last bit of necessities into my suitcase, placed it by the front door, sat down on the couch, then turned on the t.v.  

I still swear that I didn't fall asleep, I think I just feel into a trance and before I knew it the clock had struck 6:30.  Fuck! I couldn't believe it, there was no way I was going to make my flight.  I looked up the next flight online--it was at ten.  This time I was going to be early.  

I left for the airport at 8:30, went through security, and sat patiently outside of the gate keeping my fingers crossed that I would make stand by.  

I did not.

I finally made the fifth flight out of Savannah at 4:45 and spent a total of nine hours at the Savannah Airport's only bar, looking like an alcoholic, drinking away my sorrows, my hangover, and my Friday. 

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