The moment I leave my home or hotel room for the airport, I step into a state of somewhat suspended animation. Some interior clock of mine gets set to "Wait" mode. For the next "x" hours, I know I will do very little of note, nothing productive. I will, in fact, be waiting. Waiting to check-in, waiting to board, waiting to land, waiting to clear immigration (thankfully not, Waiting for Godot).
Today I am waiting in style.
I once chided a good friend who slept in and spend a lot of money on a long cab ride, only to arrive at the airport and find his flight significantly delayed. "Who doesn't confirm their flight?" I asked, amazed.
Me, as it turns out. I woke up at 4am, shouldered my pack and navigated Sydney's complex train system to make my way to the airport for a 7:45am flight. I arrived with two hours until lift off, a bit tight considering the level of airport hysteria, security and other delays that prevent one from moving smoothly from check-in to lift-off. I recently saw almost two fist-fights in the immigration line in Bangkok, people, (who I immediately decided must be plain stupid) who had given themselves only an hour to get through immigration, customs and security. With relief I saw that the check-in counter for my flight hadn't even opened yet.
It was only when asking for a roll of tape for the box of books I am carrying that I found out why. The flight had been delayed almost five hours. I was given a coupon for breakfast and an invitation to the United Airlines Buisness Class Lounge.
That's where you'll find me right now: at 10am Sydney time, sipping a coffee and taking advantage of the facilities.
When i'm finished here, I might go check out the shower room. As it stands, I am the scruffiest person in the room, wearing jeans with messy pigtails. But what can you expect from a girl who woke up at 4am?
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