Our flight was mysteriously delayed for two hours, but we noticed another JetBlue flight flying into JFK a couple hours earlier, and asked the employees if maybe there were two seats on the earlier flight. (Oh, and internet? Harold would like you to know that we were at the airport early enough to make that switch because of he got us to the airport successfully several hours before our original flight. This is because he plans ahead.) It was a bafflingly pleasant interaction at the JetBlue counter. After several opportunities for the staff to tell us we were out of luck or charge us fees, they did nothing of the sort. They reorganized our flight back, maintained our upgrades to legroom seats, and sent us on our way in a glow of cheerful efficiency.

Harold and I left the counter in a daze.

“What just happened?” I asked him, “Was that even real?”

“Why would they let us do that?” Harold asked.

“Anyone confronted with how miserable you are in airports would do anything to make it go away.”

“Really? It’s that awful to travel with me?”

“Of course not! Sorry, it’s my snark tourettes. I guess maybe they were just nice people who didn’t want us to sit all Sunday in the airport?”

“Nice people don’t work in the airport! That’s a logical fallacy! Are you sure I’m not really awful to travel with?”

We were back in Brooklyn in a few hours. Don’t worry, we hadn’t slipped into an alternate dimension, everyone at JFK was tired and in a hurry.

Ah, home.

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