Whew.

So.

Those people running through the airport. We are they.

30 mins to gate is normally fine. Stopping at the admirals club when you have over an hour, status quo.

Realizing that you are no where near the actual departure gate and you hear your flight last call and you are running in flip flops racing toward your last connection, there is a small amount of panic that sets in.

Out of shape, just swallowed some cold beverages and some unknown distance to the real gate. Time to keep running. Then it hits you. The next Announcement is your name asking you to appear at gate 44 before the doors close. Looking up. All we see us gate 22. Do you stop chance on the train? Or keep trying to run in flip flops to the gate? Run forest run. Or in reality jog fast cause that us all I got.

First class or not they will close the doors. Shin splints, stopping to pick up stuff falling out if the back packs we made it. Not last. Still time for a champagne. But barely. Still not sure who is sitting in Wayne’s actual seat, but he is also on board in the row ahead of us. Now intently looking to see if our bags get loaded. Not like the bags went to the admirals club before hand.

Wahoo.

Now looking at the time with the packed flight and making sure the passengers match their bags we could have chilled in the club for another few minutes except the plane doors are closed.

We win.

Grenada here we come. Boney, check the schedules as we are leaving late.

Cheers.