I write this from a Drury Inn in Illinois, across the river from St. Louis. Not the hotel I am staying at for the weekend, but rather from the place a nice security guard dropped me when I was stranded at an airport in the middle of cornfields. It's been a hell of a night.

Apparently my airline doesn't fly into the big airport, no it flies into a little one on the Illinois side that doesn't actually connect to anything. Hence, when I reserved the car at the big airport it was, surprisingly, not waiting for me magically at the airport I flew into. So there I was, two hours late thanks to a delay, having just flown through a thunderstorm which was a really unfun ride, and stranded with no means to get to the rental car except an overpriced taxi that was going to take thirty minutes to get to me before the forty minute (at least) cab ride. Then the nice security guard offered to take me to the train. But we got there two minutes after the train left. So he took me a little further up the road, looking for a gas station and I decided, hey, I can hang out at that Drury Inn indefinitely. Thankfully, the other people flying in arrived, were able to pick up the car (which was not at the airport but where they had to take a shuttle to get to) and are now in route, as I type to rescue me. Attempting to navigate thirty miles of stormy, cold midwest at one o'clock in the morning is really not my favorite activity.

The only positive is that this particular inn is hosting a large amount of really good looking men who are playing poker in the lobby. This means that on occasion they walk by to use the restroom and I get to check them out. Somehow it doesn't all equal out, however.

And I just want everyone to know that I read a really interesting book on the plane and was really excited to talk about it. Instead I'm sharing my story of travel woes. It is worth noting, however, that another traveler was delayed two and a half hours, missed her connecting flight and is now in Chicago overnight. I don't know which of us has it worse. In the end, I feel this will be the hardest fought for conference paper ever presented. Someone, somewhere is writing a Hollywood script even as I type.

I would also like to add that the nice man who gave me a ride was a Republican. It just goes to show that you shouldn't stereotype because you never know who come to your aid. It also goes to show that while it might not be wise to accept rides from strange men, at least not everyone in this world is a degenerate. As Blanche says, "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." Of course, when she says it, it is horrifically sad and ironic. Thankfully my own dependence in this case did not end up with me raped, dead, or in a mental institution. All-in-all it's been a very successful night.

I suppose it all depends on how you are measuring things.