Beckett in Chicago

While my Berkeley-Halifax flights went on time and with enough smoothness that I seemed to be the only person on the plane who noticed the occasional buffetting, Fred’s OC-Oakland was just a few minutes late.  Bob, however, drew the short straw of flying through Chicago…or, as has become evident in the clear light (wait, no this is Halifax, the drizzle) of morning, he seems to remain in Chicago.

Thanks to the beauty of such modern inventions as cell phones and FlightStats, I can be fairly confident that he is furious rather than lost in space. Plus, having been in this situation at O’Hare before, he knows exactly how and where to find an exorbitantly priced hotel and packed his toothbrush in his carry-on because he never knows when he’ll see his suitcase again. All he has to do is wait.

And so he waited. And then got to fly to a bunch more places: O’Hare to Pearson, Pearson to Moncton, Moncton to Stanfield.  Home at last. Minus a suitcase and with the question of how, if the airlines find it, they can deliver it since the street’s closed to traffic….

Back to waiting.

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