I'm writing this as I sit in a SuperShuttle van outside a terminal gate at Ronald Reagan National - waiting for the driver to return from wherever it is that he went. He left the keys in the ignition; maybe I should get all entrepreneurial, here in the royal city of the Ownership Society, and find my own way to the hotel.
Naaah. I'm too hungry to risk getting arrested.
And but so, this day has been one of ridiculous amounts of waiting. A few instances:
Waiting for Shannon to wake up from a nap so I could vacuum the house before lunch.
After her nap ended up overlapping with the girls' waiting for them to wake up from their naps so I could vaccum the house, which I finished three minutes before my first shuttle o' the day was supposed to arrive at the house and take me to MSP.
Waiting for that shuttle, which arrived 47 minutes late and then hurtled to the airport in less than 45 minutes. (From where I was sitting over the driver's right shoulder, I could see clearly that he had the needle over 80 the whole time, over 90 for long stretches, and over 100 twice, including once on I-35 E as he cut right across three lanes of traffic and then back left and once, a few seconds later, changing lanes on the Minnesota River bridge.)
Waiting in a long security-gate line.
Waiting in a short boarding-gate line.
Waiting for the plane to take off.
Waiting for the refreshment cart (which included - since we were flying through the dinner hour - an assortment of snacks, such as Mini Oreos, an "all-beef snack stick," and other repellent-sounding non-dinner items).
Waiting for the plane to land (seriously, we must have started our "final descent" somewhere over Ohio).
Waiting now for the driver to come back and get us the hell going.