So, I'm sitting in Ohare in Chicago waiting for my flight to Fargo yesterday. A friend of mine texts me a picture of his brother-in-law, who I went to high school with and is still a great friend, sitting behind home plate at the Cubs game I was watching at Ohare's Bar and Grill. A great place. Corona is only $8.25 a bottle there with tax. It's $7.50 a six pack at the little grocery store in my subdivision, but anyway. I called Len after the game and he was flying out of Ohare. He gets through security and ends up in my terminal only 10 gates from me. We meet up and I said, "Who would have ever thought to poor boys from Malta would be having a drink together in Ohare?' We had a glass and I waited for him at his gate.
We lamented about the labors of flying, the waiting, etc. How it's a pain in the ass to fly alone because if you have to go to the bathroom you have to take everything with you but then Len had a great quote.
"I like to fly. It's the best way to get from here to there. And, I really like getting to THERE." It was well put.
My flight that was cancelled at 3:50 didn't leave until 9:30. I flew to Fargo, jumped in a one ton flatbed and drove it home as we need the truck in Helena. 746 miles from the hotel to my driveway. 746 miles and I crossed one state line. I stopped for fuel twice (had a quick burger on one of them) took three short naps and made it home in 12 hours.
This post won't be tagged with "who's luckier than me?"