But alas, this blog is already descending into bitchery because I am posting this blog from my vestal chamber. In California.
Obviously, things aren't going to plan. The first mistake was to believe things would, because SATA, the Azorean airline, is notoriously incompetent. Two years ago it took my parents a week to get home from the Azores because of delayed flights and bureaucratic tangles. (I'm taking the same itinerary, SATA to Boston and then Virgin to SFO, when I come home. This bodes not well for me.)
I didn't even know anything was wrong. No phone call from the agency, no email saying my flight was delayed... by 24 hours. Nope, I had to hear it from the grapevine: my cousin who works for SATA in the Azores called my Padrinho Fernandinho, who called our house to make sure I knew. Nope! Called the agency to make sure, but didn't get an explanation.
If a flight is going to be delayed 24 hours, you'd think they'd have time to warn you, right? Silly me.
To overcome the crushing anticlimax, I decided to make the best of it and have as San Jose a day as I could. In-and-Out run? Hella needed that.
Followed by afternoon adventures on Mt. Hamilton Road with Steve:
I'm going to miss you, San Jose... but it's time to part ways for now.
No comments:
Post a Comment