Way back in the dark ages, 1998 to be exact, I got lost. I need to explain how horrible this was. I never, and I mean never, get lost.
I have this innate homing device that will get me from place to place without fail. Unfortunately, I got lost on our return trip from Vermont, when we were running late already to catch a plane back to Detroit.
I had instructions on how to get to West Dover, Vermont. I just didn’t remember or know how to get to the airport coming back from West Dover. I took the wrong turn on the freeway and we had to stop for directions.
By the time we got to the airport, I still had to return the rental car. I dropped DH off at the entrance and went to return the car. By the time I got inside, he told me our plane was boarding and we’d missed it. They hadn’t taken off yet – damn them – but we missed the flight.
For some reason I decided this was his fault. Really. I don’t know why when I think back to it because he sure wasn’t driving. It was all me. I was so upset with myself that I was livid. We had to wait until 4:00 pm to get another flight. It was 8:30 am. This is a horrible amount of time to spend in an airport. I don’t know if we discussed leaving and going sight seeing or not, but for some reason we just agreed to sit at the airport. Yuck. With nothing to read, nothing to do – we sat for 7 hours. Miserable.
We finally boarded our flight back home. Once we got to Detroit Metro there was the usual fight to get on the van back to the parking lot. For some reason Muslims think they should have first crack at the van. I almost started an international incident right then. Believe me, jihad was on my mind.
We crawled into our car and hit the expressway during rush hour to get all the way over to the other side of Detroit, about 40 miles if you’re a crow, but it seemed like 100.
There ended our fun trip to Vermont searching for a B & B to buy and settle into. It was not auspicious and thankfully we found one that wasn’t a good fit for our income. We didn’t buy it and for that I will always be grateful. Who knows? Maybe waiting at the airport cooled off the need to buy a piece of real estate we would regret the rest of our lives. Close call.