I was having a pretty normal day until the whole “now I will fly to Boston for a conference” thing.
I went into work for half a day at the office, then walked back to Penn Station to catch the Air Train to JFK. Getting through security was no problem — beyond the airport personnel who kept cutting the line — and before long I was on the plane ready to go. Bag stowed underneath, seatbelt fastened, getting ready to taxi.
And then they kicked us off the plane.Â
It was some kind of ground delay, which I think roughly translated into “the ground crew has to go home now,” and which I know translated into about an hour and a half delay getting out of New York.
But it was a quick trip, only about an hour altogether. And I got a cab pretty quick, too, arriving at the hotel not much later than expected.
Where I discovered that the books that desperately needed to be here, for tomorrow’s conference, were nowhere to be found. Yet at least one package that was supposed to be the concierge desk — in fact, the new book that really needs to be here, had be signed out by somebody. That somebody not being anybody I knew.
I spent a lot of the evening tracking down the boxes of books and supplies, which I think I finally managed to do with the hotel’s help, and grabbing a bite to eat from room service. I’ve also been watching Date Night on HBO, which is cute and sort of funny, but which also seems like a missed opportunity, given the real likable chemistry between Tina Fey and Steve Carrell and some funny turns by supporting players.
Tomorrow, I may actually try to see a little of Cambridge and Boston instead of running back and forth from one tower of the hotel to the other. I’ll also be doing the whole book-selling thing.
Time now for a little reading and then bed. About as exciting as what’s left of my first night away is going to get, I’m afraid.