To the Ticket Agent at the Delta Counter
In Chicago, we marveled at the snowfall on the tarmac. Looking out the window, I joked to my teenage daughter, "Who's going to shovel all that snow off the wings before we take off?" A little part of me inside grew worried by the minute, because I knew that the harder the snow fell, the better the chances were for a delay.
Sure enough, our delay came. I refused to let it bother me, as I was intentionally trying to demonstrate patience to both my daughter and 6-year-old son accompanying me on our trip back home. This was a remarkably hard task, considering that, in the last three days, I had acquired a cumulative four hours of sleep. Regardless, I kept cool with an ounce of pure determination, mixed with a dash of stubbornness.
I ended up sleeping through most of the pre-flight delay, as did my children, but it wasn't until about 30 minutes before landing that panic set in. The flight attendant announced that, because of the delay, we would arrive at 11:00. Looking at the boarding pass for my connecting flight, I realized it was scheduled to take off at 11:02.
Two minutes.
Rest of the article here:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/josh-m...b_4733642.html