So...I went to Israel last week. For fun, to visit a friend, to see the Holy land. The whole shebang. And thus, I need to tell that story. And if I'm going to do it, I might as well go all the way. So hold tight. It's gunna be a doozy...
It begins with a beautiful Friday morning. I bart to SFO. I love public transit, by the way, it really makes me happy. Or it makes my happy, either way. Anyway, my lovely afternoon flight, for which I arrive rather early, boards on time, everything going smoothly, the prospects clear as crystal. But as we put away from the gate, suddenly invisible hordes of ruby-eyed demons attack our plane, and the saintly armies of sanity, who also happen to be in charge of making sure airplanes are not delayed, are wounded and must withdraw. Left to their own devices, and in possession of our transcontinental vessel, the ruby-eyed demons decide to, of all the devious things, turn on a warning light. They then laughed mercilessly.
The warning light called for the intervention of the slug of bureaucracy and paperwork, who happens to be named Sebastian. A half hour later, Sebastian decides that we need to go back to our gate and re-balance our plane. I think we all agree that an unbalanced plane is a bad thing. So we go back to the gate, take care of business, and Sebastian takes his dear sweet time again to get our final okay outta there, a full hour late. That's fine, I have two hours between my connecting flights. And I like running. Running is fun.
But we weren't rid of Sebastian quite yet. Arriving an hour late meant we didn't have a gate. So after we landed, we waited a good half hour. And then, after we got a terminal, we didn't have someone to let us in, or something like that. So we all stood on the plane for another twenty minutes. And then Sebastian finally decided he was done with us. So I ran. My connection was on the other end of the Atlanta airport, so I took the tram and then ran some more. And was met with a missed flight, as were a lot of other people. Why Delta decided to leave instead of wait the extra ten minutes so everyone could make it, I don't know. Perhaps it's better for them given employee overtimes, etc. But considering that they had to put me and a dozen other people up in their own hotel rooms, and then gave me, and probably the others, business class for the transatlantic portion of the flight, I think it would have been smarter to delay the other flight a bit, but I don't know all the factors. I mean, they could have overbooked the other flight and deviously set Sebastian on us. I thought this was a story about Israel. Hush, I'm getting there. Heavens, I'm glad you don't detail all your days like this. I said hush.
So I stay overnight, wishing I had flown through JFK and thus had friends to hang out with over the next 24 hours. But instead, I was in Atlanta. So I talked on the phone and slept a lot. The next afternoon, I arrive rather early, board on time, and everything going smoothly again. I'm in Business class this time, though, and boy is it nice. We had those pod-seats where you don't have to talk to anyone. There's a thick quilt and a bottle of water waiting for you, the seats recline to totally horizontal, and the food and wine are decent and free. It's awesome. Situated so comfortably, I barely minded that we were forty minutes late in departure due to the catering being messed up and our flight not having any drinks initially.
And thus, well rested, I arrive in Israel. Finally. I take a taxi-cab-shuttle-thing, from the what-everyone-but-locals-call Tel Aviv airport to my friend's place in west Jerusalem and am greeted with her embrace. The ruby-eyed demons have been conquered, and Sebastian left on another continent.