Travel Blog

The automated check-in told me it was too early to check luggage, which was strange - I had arrived a little before 7 for an 8:30 flight - but, because I had no bags to check, I gave it little thought. When my boarding pass appeared, it didn't carry the desired, and customary, "Pre-TSA Screening," which was annoying.

Once through security, I walked down the corridor and checked the status of my flight. There was no JetBlue flight to Philadelphia at 8:30. There was no JetBlue flight anywhere at 8:30. This was strange, and worrisome. Anxiously, I dug in my bag for my printout and discovered, with a mixture of shock and alarm, that I had mistakenly booked a flight for 8:30 PM, a flight I could not take because I was traveling to give a talk at my alma mater the next morning and needed to arrive before 7 to obtain the key to the dorm room in which I was staying.

In two decades of booking flights for myself I had never confused AM and PM. I wandered about in that dream state we experience when something bad happens that we hope is a nightmare. Then I searched for a JetBlue agent not beseiged by passengers.

"I need help," I said plaintively to a bearded man at a dormant gate. I told him of my predicament, and he punched at his keyboard. There was a flight to Philadelphia at 1:10, he told me, and I could fly standby or pay $50 to guarantee a seat. I paid the $50. 

I called Hania, who told me to take a taxi home. But that would mean spending even more money, and enduring another slog through security. I'm a travel writer, I told her, I can kill six hours at an airport, even Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International.

I found a quiet section, took a seat, and jotted down notes for my morning talk. I had been given a time limit of 10 minutes. (I was to be part of a panel.) Not wanting to draw attention by talking to myself, I took out my cellphone and, for ten minutes, delivered my talk as if having a conversation. A completely one-sided conversation.