You gotta love flying.
To me, though, flying is 1000 feet above the ground in a Piper or Cessna, going 80 knots. Doing the airport-Delta-Boeing 717 thing isn't flying. It's Greyhound Air, without a sailor and his girl going at it in the back seat.
The Westchester Airport in White Plains, NY is a small place about 25 miles from New York City. It services about five airlines, which offer a small number of flights to limited destinations. Happily, Atlanta is one of those destinations.
The airport is just big enough to have a restaurant and a cafe, and has free wireless internet access, which is good, because I'm stuck here for four hours.
My flight was scheduled to depart at 7:15, but has been delayed until 11:30 because of a federal requirement that air crews get time off for rest after a busy day. I guess my crew's last flight arrived late last night, because they're ordering breakfast from room service right now.
I don't begrudge them the sleep, though. I would rather travel with a rested crew than an exhausted one-- and at least the delay wasn't caused by a malfunction in the aircraft.
What better than to pass the time than to dash off this blog while waiting to go through security?
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