Okay, that didn’t go according to plan. No problem. I’m stuck in London for the night. Or rather, in the Heathrow Sheraton, awaiting tomorrow’s Air France flight out to Monrovia via CDG. It’s not that my British Airways flight landed late – it’s that BA had another flight that was departing late, so we sat on the tarmac waiting for our gate to clear. Then decided to go to another gate. Then waited for the crew from the old gate to get to the new one. Then… While my connecting flight left on time.
That’s fine – these things happen, and there are far worse places to be stuck for the day than London. It’s not quite London of course, it’s the Heathrow Sheraton, if they ever get me a room. And standing in line for security (sorry, there’s not enough time to clear you), then rebookings (sorry, best they can do is get me to Monrovia tomorrow evening, so I’ll miss most of my meetings, and can’t reschedule them), then for the hotel and meal vouchers, then for the bus, then for a room (sorry, no rooms available yet – they’re not guaranteed until 2:30 p.m. but we should feel free to make ourselves comfortable in the lobby)…. Well, it’s worn me down.
So, I’d like to think of myself as the kind of guy who would just dump my stuff in a pile and catch the Tube into town for a pint and a play. Right? That’s the adventuresome Pablo thing to do. But it’s not going to happen, not this time. I’m going to sit here in this faceless concrete corporate conglomerate airport hotel and make do with their dinner buffet (boiled stuff, fried stuff), get a good night’s sleep and try again to get to Liberia tomorrow.
At least, that’s the plan.