(from New England, unfortunately) it pays to carry around a spare set of underwear.

Wouldn’t you take me on board your plane, even if it was over-booked and I was, through a tremendous set of errors (whose my mistakes? – mostly my own) not on the list of passengers scheduled to take off?

Of course you would! I travel light, I did not eat lunch, I am a safe bet.

So why am I sitting at the world’s smallest airport thinking that the pilot will issue a big fat no any minute and my planned return to Madison tonight will not happen? Why do I think that?

Because they’re sensing that I am a pushover and if it’s me or some needy needy passenger, I’ll probably not make a fuss, because I hate fusses and I’ll surrender and not fight and go back to town with the tail down and tears swelling and there you have it – a nice beginning to the month, don’t you think?

LATER: Bingo! My predictions were right. I first got put on the flight, then dragged off out of my rear seat, like some kind of high-risk suspect or at the very least someone caught stashing drugs in her suitcase.

And I didn’t even get reimbursed for my cab fare.

Ah, Polish grit! One needs to regroup and consider the options.

First step: go back to Starbucks and blog your troubles right onto the screen.

Second step: go for a walk to get that caffeine out of your system.

Third step: find a daughter and beg for floor space. Or something.

Fourth step: there’s always crying over spilt beer, especially since this situation begs for beers, to be drunk alone in huge amounts. (Can no longer justify Cosmos given the nice way dollars are just flying from my pocket today.)