I’m that annoying person who’s sitting at the gate when you think you’re “early” at the airport. I don’t know what precedes early, but whatever it is, that’s how I roll. Since forever.
You would then be surprised as I was by the fact that I made the check in cut off by 4 minutes last Wednesday. 4 minutes! That’s not early — that’s stupid. I found myself in this circumstance after waiting 15 minutes for the N and Bart for another 18. When the train arrived at SFO at 7:16 AM, I had 9 minutes to hoof it to the Alaska counter in Terminal 1. Doable, but so very wrong.
I don’t want to point fingers, but I have a feeling that our adventure with the sunglasses last November might have something to do with my fall from the travel god’s grace. Their plastic arms have wrapped themselves around the pristine surface of my travel mojo with a hearty squeeze.
You can rest assured that I’ll be hauling out the smudge stick prior to my next date with a flying tin can.
A quick note that one of my all-time favourite photographs appears in the February issue of Popular Photography (page 46) in an article about Lensbabies. On news stands now!
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