One of many
My family now all live in the States (leaving me here on my lonesome), and we used to live in Japan, so over the course of my life I've flown many many times. Usually, something goes tits up to some degree on about every third trip. So there are plenty of stories.

The most recent, however, was me going to visit them over the summer. Get into a taxi quite early in the morning to take me to Heathrow. No problem. Check in, no problem. Arrive in departure area and decide to eat a full English breakfast, again, no problem. Usual hurdles are being overcome, so I feel great.

Get a text from a friend asking if I'm okay. Kind of weird (my friends surely don't care that much about me?) so I text back and say I am. Then I get another, from a different friend. And another. Five separate texts, the last one of which tells me that London is being bombed. 'WTF?' I think (in abbreviated netspeak, obviously). Walk calmly over to the O'Neills, where the tv is on, but no-one's watching. Oh look. There's a blown out bus. Hang on, that's a london bus...

Yes, it was the 7th July 2005. I had been in a taxi leaving London while the explosions had gone off.

Other people in the pub see me watching the tv and start to look at it as well. Mass confusion begins.

As it happens, all trouble was avoided. My plane left only a half hour late (filled with US high school students whose accompanying teachers were practically wetting themselves, poor dears). In fact, at the gate they had the foresight to put a tv, so mere seconds before boarding we were all sitting around watching the aftermath of a terrorist attack.

Though, afterward, in California, whenever people heard I'd come from London, I got sympathetic looks, hugs, and sometimes even free stuff.

Wow, sorry. That was quite long. Apologies for [insert penis joke]
(cface run. Run, face, run!, Sun 5 Mar 2006, 10:39, Reply)