Almost a Start

Last night my mother was baking a pie when she told me she had some bad news.

My first thought? "Oh no, the pie must be burned."

What she actually said? "Some AirFrance employees are going on strike. Our plane has been delayed until at least Tuesday."

The pie was really, really good though.

At seven thirty the next morning my dad walks into my room and wakes me up, asking me if I wanted to rethink the trip because we wouldn't be able to leave until Tuesday. I told him I didn't know and went back to sleep because I don't make important decisions early in the morning. Then he wakes me up again at nine and tells me that we're leaving in four hours.

Did I mention that I hadn't packed yet?

So I packed, we headed off to the airport, ate bad Asian food as a good bye lunch, said all of our farewells, meandered our way through security, and trotted to our gate to make sure we were there on time. Once we arrived at our terminal, however, an announcement was made that due to inclement weather our flight was cancelled. Let's note that this makes two out of two flights that were nullified as of yet.

Dragging all of our luggage behind us, we sped as fast as we could to the help desk where we tried desperately to get our flight rescheduled on the same day. This was impossible, however, due to the fact that everyone who had been on an Air France flight had already rescheduled due to the strike. The earliest way we could possibly get to Delhi was a trip through Chicago on Monday afternoon.

And that's the story of why I'm still in Canton instead of en route to Delhi.