beverages. Babies were crying. Older people were trying to walk off their stiffness. The man sitting behind me had five cell phone conversations, in each of which he loudly informed his listener that his son liked Bates, that he had a good group of friends, that he had come in eighth in his debate competition on the topic of euthanasia, that he (the speaker) had bought his son and his friends a case of beer, because he'd made a deal with him that he could drink after he turned eighteen, and the college had a policy that beer and wine were OK. (Is this guy an idiot, or what? No college would have such a policy; they'd be in court sooner than you can say Bud Lite.) Twoof the conversations were with someone he's having a blind date with tonight. Her name is Heidi. In one of the conversations, he talked about Heidi with a buddy. Whenever he got excited about his prospects with Heidi, he pressed his legs, hard, against the back of my seat.

The first sign we had that we weren't flying back to Chicago was when the baggage truck drove up to the side of the plane and started unloading.

Inside, the gate agents gave us a hotel voucher, and a meal voucher for $10 good only in the airport, where all the restaurants, it being midnight, were of course closed. On a 5:30 flight that got in at midnight in a place other than its actual destination, you'd think they could do