For me, there’s that lovely moment in a movie theater, when the last preview has run: You’ve just been battered with half a dozen in-your-face, brain-grabbing advertisements for upcoming movies, stories in which you may or may not have any actual interest. But the screen fades, the lights go down just a little more, and it’s clear that the feature attraction is about to begin. For me, it’s always a lovely bit of disorientation right then: what movie am I here to see?
I’m experiencing that again now, in a different way: our flight has been delayed three times, and I’ve had four hours to wander the concourses of the airport terminal. Announcements blare overhead for flights to Jakarta, London, points that span the compass rose. Finally, there’s motion at our gate – the agents assemble. An airplane stands ready at the end of the jetway. I had to reach for my boarding pass to remember: where are we flying today?
Oh, right: Newark.
(More later won the whole why thing, but in the meantime, can someone explain Virgin America’s dodgy GPS nav to me? As we approach for landing, it tells me that SFO is 3309 miles behind us, but that we’ve only traveled 2535 miles since leaving there. I tried all the conversions I could: maybe they mean kilometers? Nope. Maybe one of them is nautical miles? Nope. I do trust that the guys up front have more consistent numbers…)