homeward bound

Spending your Saturday at the airport is such a waste of a weekend. And believe me, at the rate my schedule has been going, weekends are about to become a rare and precious thing.

It started out well enough. Rose from bed late, warm sunlight streaming through me bedroom window, the centralized aircon still on giving the room a nice cool feel without freezing me to death and me, wrapped up in a nice warm comforter with fluffy pillows and fabulous linen. Languid wake-up routine, relaxed breakfast of cold cuts, bread and tea, quick though warm trip to Boots for some last minute items, the final zip up of my luggage and finally check out. Over all, not too bad. I'd be home early enough to join friends for a late night dinner or drinks.

Imagine my horror on seeing the words 'DELAYED' flashing on the monitor screen as we lined up at the airport counter. Now imagine my horror multiplying exponentially when I see the numbers '1730' where it says, 'departure time'. At that point it was barely past noon.

Now looming ahead of me was hours and hours of waiting time. When asked for the reason for delay all I could get was 'late arrival' as an answer. What was the point? Knowing why wouldn't have gotten that plane here any sooner anyway.
So we make ourselves as comfortable as we can in an airport, when you're not important enough to fly business class and enjoy the facilities of the lounge. Angry Birds, Sudoku and ebooks can really only do so much when your body is craving to be on its way home. Meanwhile, there is the unfinished office work I've left behind that I can try to get done. But... it's a Saturday. Why waste a weekend?

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