The long way home (or how I missed the storm)

Once I made the decision to go home, it just couldn't happen fast enough. In my mind at least. Because my travel was so stupidly chaotic that there came a point when the only thing to do was to laugh.

It started with the shuttle. I walked in the rain to the corner near Penn Station, and waited there for a few minutes (dripping, because who brings an umbrella when they are going to the snowy Montreal?). Suddenly, there arrived the shuttle, but instead of parking in front of us (we were 4 waiting on the sidewalk), the guy just kept going. One of the girls started to run, and we all followed. Forced the guy to opened the door. Behind us, a firetruck. So yeah: 4 girls, luggage in tow, rushing to go on the shuttle, while the sirens blared. So much fun.

Doubled the usual travel time (New York plus rain plus night equals waste of time). Got to the airport, rather tight in time, to discover the plane would be an hour late. Ok.

After 90 minutes, the plane still wasn't there. Then, word came that the plane had landed. Then, they just didn't know where the plane was. Yep, they had lost the plane.

It's an hour and fifteen minute-plane ride. I should have been home by 9. At 2 to midnight, we were still in the plane, waiting to get the right to approach the gate. At a quarter to 1, we were standing in the plane, waiting to get out of the plane. I swear: you just start laughing at the delays because it's so ridiculous!

So I missed the storm, but not the snow.