Back from Vegas, back from the overwhelming heat, decadence, and crash course in oxymoronic cities. I've been plenty of times before, but this time wasn't quite the same. The constant barrage on the senses - noise, music, food, people, money - this time around it was too much.
I asked j to check our flight while we were sitting at a cabana on Monday afternoon (he's the travel agent of the family) and he said the flight was at 8am on tuesday morning. Note to future self: always check flights yourself when sun, cabanas, bikinis and copious amounts of alcohol are present.
The 8am flight meant getting up around 6 the next morning, which we somehow managed. The ride to the airport was smooth, security was a breeze, and we sat down at the gate about an hour before our flight was due to take off. As we're sitting there, with 45 minutes to go, they start to line folks up for another flight at our gate. This is a bit unusual in my flying experience, and in j's, so he got up to check the monitor to make sure they hadn't changed gates on us.
When he came back, he had a funny look in his face. So I asked him if we had to haul ass to another gate, and he said no, definitely don't hurry.
Okayyyy, so is our flight delayed?
Nope.
Turns out, his calendar was reading in the wrong time zone for our flight. Instead of being at 8am, it wasn't until 10. Could've been worse, though, right? We could've been two hours late...
I had to laugh - I was done with Vegas anyway, and there are far worse things than hanging around an airport for an extra hour or two, reading and generally relaxing, right?
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