Southern weather is always a bit unpredictable. If you don’t like the rain, give it five minutes.
Or in yesterday’s case, an hour and a half. When the call to board the plane went out, I sensed a subtle urgency in the announcer’s voice. The craft had only just began to pull away from the jetway when the clouds dumped everything on us and the pilot wearily announced that we would be waiting until the weather cleared.
Doctor’s offices aren’t fun to wait in, but the middle of the tarmac may be worse. I didn’t mind too much; I wanted to nap. I just didn’t expect to wake from the nap to the sound of the engines spinning to life as the pilot made the fastest takeoff I’ve ever experienced.
My thought process was a little bit like this: “What’s that sound? Oh, the engines. Huh. We’re in the air.”
The flight itself was uneventful, except for one spot of turbulence that sent a flight attendant sailing through the air and caused my neighbor to squeal and slap my leg in her rapid attempts to hold on to something.
Such is travel.
We landed safely in Chicago, even though the landing drove home why it’s called “The Windy City.” Because the delays had taken so long, I didn’t have a chance to do or see much last night except grab dinner at a restaurant close to the hotel. Macaroni and cheese burger? Yes please.
If you have any suggestions on what to see or do while in Chicago, comment below. I’m always open to suggestions.