oraculi

My last trip to New York was a New Years Eve affair. A friend, a party at a swanky hotel, a quintessential New York experience. And my return flight home, departing from LaGuardia airport, was via an available seat on an earlier flight. After de-icing and a hasty departure through a blanket of snow, I arrived at home right on time; my luggage, departing according to my original accommodations, spent the night somewhere in the Detroit airport and then joined me the next day.

Earlier this month, I returned to New York, this time for business instead of pleasure. Again my return flight was from LaGuardia, and again the weather turned threatening. I rebooked my evening flight to early afternoon, finished my meetings, and left the office, on my way to retrieve my luggage from the hotel. Out on the street, I was instantly soaked, victim of the same slush-and-freezing-rain threatening my flight. Pedestrianism the victim of inclement weather (my umbrella safely packed away in my suitcase), I caught a cab, grabbed my luggage, and was efficiently deposited out the airport terminal a short while later.

Every time I travel via airplane, I reflect on the the inevitable need to hurry-up-and-rush-then-wait. Rush to arrive at the airport on time. Rush to join the security line. Rush to get to the gate. Then wait in the queue for boarding pass and ID verification, then wait to walk through the x-ray machine, then wait for the gate agent to announce boarding. On this trip, I also endured additional opportunities to wait; wait for trucks to de-ice the plane, wait for the tower to clear the plane for departure, wait for the forecast to become one of mere light freezing rain. Three hours of waiting on the tarmac later, mine was the first flight to depart (with the bribe of bottled water and a light snack in exchange thanks from the pilot for passenger patience). It brought the debate over a passenger bill of rights, for me, to life.

Anyway, New York does the season up, with lights and decorations at the airport, throughout the streets, and adorning building exteriors across Manhattan (sorry other boroughs, but no time this visit). Atlanta, to a lesser extend, does the same, though lacking the cold and the bluster of northern states, fails to give it the same kind of breath of life.

Jingle bell rock, y’all.