I would just like to start off by saying one thing. I'm. never. late.
I've never been late for anything in my entire life. Dentist appointments, birthday parties, work, school, being a personal taxi driver, you name it, I've been five minutes early for it.
Now that we've got that outta the way, let me start by saying this. My plane was scheduled to take off at 8a.m. on a Sunday morning and arrive in Vancouver at 10a.m. pacific time. What did I do? I read the ticket wrong. I thought that my plane took off at 10a.m.! Yup, it means exactly what you think it means. I. missed. my. flight!
As I'm standing there at the check-in counter, ready to punch the Asian lady (behind the desk) in the face for telling me I've in fact, missed my flight, I stop to think. Think about all those times I'd arrived early to my stupid classes, pointless dentist appointments and meaningless work. And for what? I mean, it's not like the building is going to get up and bloody walk away. If I arrive 10 minutes late, the world won't collapse around me. But, no! I had to be late for a flight. A flight that WILL, in fact, pick up and walk away if you are not on it. A flight that I thought I was arriving my usual hour and a half early for, but was quickly told I had missed it by a mere half an hour. Note to self: Double check, double check, TRIPLE CHECK!
Why was I in a panic? Well besides that obvious "movie-drama-panic-feeling" someone gets when they realized they have missed their flight (which is much like that when you realize you slept threw an alarm clock--only a little more extreme), I was to arrive for my first day of work on Sunday around noon. Because I was suppose to meet with the new crew I would be living on a yacht for, for five months. Great first impression, don't you think? But, no. This time, of all the other times, I decided that today was a good day to be late. But I did make it in time, actually early, for my doctors appointment the next day... you got to love irony.