Greetings from Room 251 of a Dallas Radisson hotel. I got as far as DFW, but no further. I missed my connecting flight to Burbank. Or so they said…

My flight from Boston — which finally took off 2 hours late — landed 3 minutes before the flight to Burbank took off, but then we sat on the tarmac for a good 20 minutes while Ground Control did whatever it is they do to delay flights that are already delayed 2 hours. Then we finally were cleared to our gate, except our gate wasn’t empty yet so they had to find a new one for us. Which they did pretty quickly, but then we still sat there for another 15 minutes before we finally parked.

I got off, tracked down the gate agent, and was informed that my Burbank flight had already left. She handed me two meal vouchers and a hotel voucher and told me to go to the ticket counter to get booked on the first flight out tomorrow morning. I almost decided to handle it myself and could have flown stand-by on a flight to LAX in the neighboring gate, but my checked bags wouldn’t have followed me so I went ahead to the ticket counter to see if they could pull my bags and maybe get me on one more flight to LA later that night.

I’ll leave out all the circling and cart riding and train riding and running and fast-walking and huffing and puffing and sweating I did over the next hour as I tried to track down my bags, go stand-by on another flight, get taken off the flight to Ontario (60 miles from home) someone mysteriously booked me on, and etc. I’ll just sum up by saying I logged a lot of miles and frustration before I happened to glance up at a departure monitor and noticed:

My original Burbank flight hadn’t left yet. It was still sitting there waiting for me.

It had been delayed an hour, it was boarding right now and if I really hauled ass across most of two terminals I just might make it. But I didn’t make it. My bags did, apparently, but not me.

So now I’m here in the Radisson with nothing but the clothes on my back, my laptop, and a surprisingly nice “personal hygeine kit” American Airlines gave me. I’m booked on the 10:35 flight to Burbank in the morning, and I hope when I hit Burbank I find my luggage is waiting there for me.

Surprisingly, I don’t want to kill anyone right now. But let me sleep on it. For one more night away from home. In a hotel bed. When I should have been in mine. With clean clothes. And a wife.

Ah yes, the rage is coming back.

Well, there’s one good thing about the Boston airport: pay-as-you-go internet access. The bad thing is that my flight is delayed. My 3:32 departure has turnedc into a “they’ll be ready at 4:15 … we think” — and they’re not sure if 4:15 means take off or board or what.

So I’m still here. Not for long, I hope. As for my connection in Dallas… Well, I’m hoping I actually do make it home tonight after all.

Less than one minute left on my dollar access. Time to go. Somewhere.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Elvis tattoo has left the building!

Thank you! Good night!