I think I might have already used this post title before, but if you know me, then you understand my tendency for hyperbole. Yesterday around 1:00 Dr. SOB and I headed to Philadelphia airport for a 3:30 flight to Raleigh Durham. It's only a 50 minute flight, so we were set to arrive by 5pm. Once we got there, we found out that our Southwest flight was delayed about an hour and 45 minutes. Because of my swirling hormones, this reduced me to sobbing in the terminal, for the first time. We sat, but because our gate was full, we had to sit at the next gate over, full of people going to mother fucking Paris. Now this was our first Southwest experience, but we had some knowledge of how things worked. We were in B boarding, so about 45 minutes before our plane was scheduled to take off, we got in the B line, behind about 6 other people. Only then we found out that these people were headed to Hartford, not Raleigh Durham. Turns out, our flight was delayed again, but Southwest doesn't supply that kind of information. We had avoided going to the gate agent, but at this point, we needed to know what was going on. I went over and the non-english speaking person there told me the flight was canceled! As the tears began again, with Dr. standing on the sidelines fearing the worst, another gate agent came over and said the flight was not canceled, non-english speaking agent was confusing 'canceled' and 'delayed.' Big fucking difference, lady. Anyway, the flight was delayed an additional hour. After the Hartford line was gone, we got back in line at our gate. We then started to notice people slowly leaving our line and moving over to the next gate. Turns out they switched the gate on us, without bothering to notify anyone. We ran over and secured the first position in the B line at the new gate! Finally, things were looking up! The plane arrived, we boarded with little fuss. And then el Capitan comes over the intercom and informs us that we are 17th in line for takeoff. Jesus Christ! Now during this whole time, my only consolation was that we would probably arrive at our hotel in time for me to watch the first episode of the new Survivor. I make no apologies for the lameness of this, it just is what it is. But because of the cluster-fuck that is the Philadelphia airport, we ended up sitting on the runway for another 50 minutes or so. We got to the hotel around 9:00 and were starving. We dropped our bags, went to get some food, and returned ready to collapse. As we lay in bed, the air conditioning unit kicked on. For the first 25 seconds or so, this was a good thing. Then the most ridiculous thing happened. The air conditioner started making this reet reet noise, which in itself was pretty horrible. However, the thing that was the most punishing about this noise was that it sounded exactly like Dr. SOB's alarm clock. All night, when the AC would turn on, we would both jump up and think we were at home. Oh and the AC would turn on once every 35 minutes or so and stay on for about 12 minutes. Having slept not nearly enough, Dr. got up and took a shower, preparing for his interview. He was supposed to meet one of the Dr. Interviewers in the lobby for breakfast at 7:30. At approximately 7:27, our room phone rang. Turns out the clock in our room was 15 minutes slow and Dr. Interviewer had been waiting for over 10 minutes for the arrival of Dr. SOB. I was planning on sleeping in a little, but alarm AC prevented me from doing so. Now it's about noon, I feel like shit, and I'm about to go and explore Durham and Chapel Hill. Don't be surprised if later on I get into a car accident and our hotel catches on fire.
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