I knew it, I thought as my luggage dropped off the conveyor. Just moments before, I had predicted that my bag would be next, confirming my place as world-class psychic. Of course, I had made the same prediction for every bag before it as well. My patience was simply wearing thing going into my third hour of waiting.
I had missed my connecting flight due to flight delays. I did however manage to rush onto the next available connection to San Francisco, congratulating myself on being lucky enough to get one of the last few tickets on an already overbooked flight. When I landed, I discovered that my bags were not so fortunate and had to wait until they arrived on the next connecting flight. What was the point of getting on the earlier flight, then? Sigh…
Of course, by the time I get my luggage, the only transportation to my hotel in the distant suburbs of San Francisco is a taxi driven by a man with a heavy accent and no idea where Pleasanton is. At one point in the trip, he passed me his cell phone in order to get directions from some superior of his who was presumably staring at MapQuest.
I finally cross the hotel threshold safe and sound at 3AM Pacific time, roughly 18 hours after I left my apartment. I did get some neat photos though, so I’ve got that going for me.