I think it was to spite me, but I somehow made it onto the second-to-last flight of the evening, and made it home about an hour sooner than I was expecting. After about the first eight hours of failed flights, I started chatting up an attractive girl whom we both realized that we were in the same predicament, as we had grown aware of each others’ presences at all the gates since about 7:00 a.m. Conversations were pleasant, and I got to learn that she’s also local to Atlanta, there was no ring on the hand, and in the back of my head, went the “hmm” voice.
And then naturally, inevitably comes the carefully tactful mentioning of the boyfriend that I have to try and not let visibly affect me, while she gets to possibly feel flattered that some other guy was showing initial interest in her. But whatever, at an airport, I wouldn’t have it any other way, and regardless of the events of the day, the weekend, I’m simply just glad to finally fucking be home.
