Planes and Trains.....

Director John Hughes died today, he directed two epic 80's films, Home Alone and Ferris Bueller, along with the Breakfast Club. He also directed Planes, Trains and Automobiles which reminds me of my last day and a half. Okay now, I have travelled my share, but today was out of control. Everyone has travel horror stories of delays and missed connections. I have plenty of those. I have slept at DIA  in Denver during snowstorms, been diverted from Manilla to Tokoyo  and taken every imaginable form of transportation to get to Montana. But this....

I have been pointing to this Hulu.com Summit meeting in Virginia since January. 

I am  providing Connection content to a company working with  Fox/Disney to create a faith/family channel  on the hugely popular Hulu.com site. 

I was to meet with Jay Sekulow and some CBN heavyweights and I was stoked.  I never made it to the meeting.

I will not bore you with the gory details, 30 hours, three airports,  seven security checks,  and I never made it past Texas.  My first flight took off and we did not make it out of ABQ! 

That should have been a sign.  American Airlines lured me into complacency by upgrading me to First for the whole flight for some unknown reason.  Just as I was settling into my spacious seat and dozing off, the pilot said, 'We have a minor problem and are turning back to Albuquerque.' First of all, there are no 'minor problems' at 30,000 feet.  It all spiralled out of control from that point. I was doomed.  

Airports can be their own little hell. We shuffle mindlessly through security like sheep to slaughter, abandoning all sense of personal right. Today, I was a zombie, I do not give up easily, but when the final flight took off for Norfolk, and I was still #1 on standby, with my face pressed against the airport window.

 I was a defeated man. It was pathetic. But the worst was yet to come. Once I decided to surrender and return to ABQ,  American told me the next flight was tomorrow at noon.  48 hours after I began my journey to nowhere.  Stopping short of going postal, I crawled to a different airport (Love Field) and  slithered home on Southwest, a broken man. 

But I will get back on the horse.