Delays, delays...

You can learn a lot about the human condition when your flight boards, and then, and hour and a half later, is cancelled. Things become fierce as you form an infinite cue with your co-travelers for flight re-scheduling. You realize how hollow and tenuous optimism can be; you tread the far-reaching borderlands of compassion.

I stood obsequiously aside as a first-class passenger harassed a bedraggled Delta agent. "I paid a thousand dollars for this ticket!" he shouted, "Serve me first! I must get to Minneapolis." Later he trolled the Line of Eternity asking everyone to confirm that the agent had been unacceptably rude. I wanted to look at him and say, "I'm sorry, Sir -- despite the fact that we live in an unfortunately capitalistic hegemony, it makes sense that the employees of the airline do not stratify our humanness in terms of our income and our willingness to spend. Your tie is overly pressed and not flattering."

I did not say this. Instead I took a sip of my coffee and tried to feel serene and glad that I wore my festive holiday sweater. Now I get to hang out in the airport for nine hours. If anyone ever wants a detailed description of the A Terminal of Boston Logan, I will gladly draw you an interpretive, artful sketch from memory.