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So, remember all that shit I was talking about being lucky? Cosmically lucky?

I forgot to mention one exception.

I am not lucky when it comes to flying. I mean, I am lucky in so far as I have never gone down in a fiery crash, or even had a ride so bumpy that it made me sick. Which is not nothing, and I realize that. But I do not have the specific airline luck that some people have. Despite flying dozens of times over the past few years, I have never been moved up to first class. I don’t get the back-to-back bumpings that have allowed my friend Talley to fly free across the country over and over. And I know part of this is not luck. Part of it is about being well dressed and/or really difficult. But I dress to fall asleep in a plane, and I can’t bring myself to get angry at a perfectly innocent airline agent. And beyond this, my flights tend to get cancelled and delayed for hours on end, leaving me sleep deprived and rerouted in some back-of-the-plane middle-of-the-row seat with a broken headphone jack.

So here I am at 8:19 in the morning, still in Richmond, fresh off of my mechanically disinclined flight to Dulles, minutes away from missing my Dulles to Austin. Eating cherry yogurt that cost $2.05 so that I could get close to an outlet to use while I wait for my 9:23 to Atlanta. I am really, really starting to wish I had gotten some sleep last night. And I am revisiting my bitterness about the checked bag I have been carting around – the one that is almost surely not going to make it to Austin today – full of the camping gear that Frenchie requested I bring to Quebec. Because I didn't want to be flying about this summer, but I sure as hell didn't want to be flying about with luggage.

But I am cheering myself by recalling the moment in the supermarket yesterday when Kira picked up a bottle labeled “French Lemonade,” made a uniquely disgusted Kira face, and said This sounds awful. And I am re-reading an email that Warren sent me yesterday, which reads in part:

We're struggling with an incredibly ancient piece of modelling software at work designed by an infamously arrogant company located in Quebec. This shit is literally from 1983 and they refuse to make any significant updates to it. We are regularly astonished by its cryptic nature and completely counter-intuitive design. You get the idea.

So my co-worker, having reached the end of his rope, with a look of utter incredulousness on his face, stood for a long moment searching the ceiling for words to describe his total despair--and finally said, "French-Canadians." He caught me in mid-chew ... it was a mess.

Seriously? I have the coolest friends ever.

posted by tortaluga @ 5:32 AM