Man oh man, I have been so remiss on the blog this week. In my defense, I have been running around at SuperZoo all week, checking out new cat and dog stuff and in general thinking and talking about pets for three days straight, but I’ve had so little time in my room to post about it as the good folks at the convention center weren’t in the mood to provide wifi to us writing types. C’est la vie. It was great and I saw some of my favorite people, and got to meet some new favorite people, and I got to wear a rare and slightly sinister Australian python around the convention floor for a bit. Good stuff. I had planned to write all that when I got home tonight, but that was before the three hour flight delay out of Vegas.
When you’re sitting on the tarmac with the engine cover off the plane 45 minutes after your scheduled departure, you know it’s bad. By the time they got it figured out, Obama was on the campaign trail in Vegas airspace so the airport shut down for an hour, and that was that. Boom, three hour delay. So it’s late, and I’m tired.
It would be funny if I weren’t so exhausted, but I seem to be the Queen of the Flight Delay lately. And the weird thing is, it’s the same thing every time. Three hours. Not one, not four, three. I had a three hour delay getting out of Arusha, which turned into a slightly scary yet interesting one day stopover in Nairobi. Then a three hour delay out of San Diego trying to get to Nicaragua. Then ANOTHER three hour delay in Houston on the way back.
Well, bad things happen in threes, so I figured that was that, until tonight. Bad things happen in multiples of three? Am I doomed to forever have three hour delays going places? Like Rob McKenna in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, perhaps I am a Delay God, a mighty yet completely inconvenient and overall useless paranormal superpower. Or is it worse, am I not a Delay God but a Mangled Aircraft God who simply continues to be postponed from my eventual fate by the intervention of scrupulous airline mechanics doing their job?
I made the mistake of making this observation to my seatmate tonight, which led the entire eavesdropping plane to blame me for our misfortunes, which I can blame them not in the slightest for doing. Someone had to take the hit. It might as well be me, the mighty Quasi Supernormal Incremental Flight Delay Inducer.
So bear with me while I get my bearings back, and look ominously towards October when I go to Atlanta for BarkWorld. And just call me Dr. 3.