Here’s a quiet Boston place to write …

Yesterday’s arrival in Boston was momentous, and not in a good way.  I wonder what the word really means.

Of great importance or significance, especially in its bearing on the future

So if these three happenings were yucky, the future is not that they’ll never happen again, but how I deal with them down the road.

1.  I was tired after the two flights – ten hours in the air.  In Boston Airport, it was immediately clear that I had no phone service.  And I was too out of it to see that “BOSwis” was the airport’s WiFi.  I fact, I bet the sign really said “BOSWiFi” but I didn’t have eyes to see.

Also, apparently no Data Roaming from Belgium.  Couldn’t find any message about it.  So I was flying blind.  My Airbnb host “Melanie” had kindly offered to pick me up at the airport but I couldn’t figure out how to contact her.  Later I heard a voice in my head: “Well, Bruce, WhatsApp would have done nicely.”

I spent nearly an hour this morning on the phone with my Belgian Internet service provider.  Janice was so kind … but I couldn’t piece together her instructions, or what had gone wrong.  In a lovely spurt of niceness, she e-mailed me the instructions so I wouldn’t have to remember the words of her voice.

She adjusted the coverage that I was getting … and here I am sitting with oodles of data.

2.  No luggage.  The first flight, to Munich, left Brussels an hour late because of weather problems.  My layover of 1:20 turned into a sprint of :25.  One result was that Lufthansa left my luggage in Munich.

I sat for many minutes at Carousel 4, watching suitcases traverse their loop, just not my suitcase.  Ten or twenty passengers shared my fate.  The Lufthansa rep did his best to be helpful.  “Coming tomorrow.  Right now, leave the Customs area and go to the Transfer desk.  Another Lufthansa agent will take your info so hopefully your luggage will be delivered to your home tomorrow evening.”  So there was hope within the sigh.

I left the meeting travelling light.  Rather than find the desk right away, I worked on solving problem number three.  By the time I got to the Transfer desk, the rep had gone home.

Happily there was a sign.  I could scan the image to access a “delayed luggage” form, not requiring the Internet.  So I sat there blearily, doing my best to answer questions about my suitcase.  I wasn’t on top of my game.

Hopefully this evening I can shave and put on deodorant.

3.  My Airbnb host and I couldn’t find each other.  A neighbouring passenger helped me identify Logan’s WiFi.  (Thank you, dear anonymous one)  So at least Melanie and I could talk to each other.

Bruce:  “I’m standing outside Customs at Terminal E.”

Melanie:  “So am I.”

Bruce:  “I don’t see you.”  (We’d exchanged pictures)

Melanie:  “I don’t see *you*.”

The fact was that we’d both assumed.  My experience in airports is that once you’ve cleared Customs and got your luggage, you go through a big door that opens into a lobby.  Behind a low fence are the loved ones, some holding signs.  And that’s what I saw last night.  I held Melanie’s photo and scanned faces.  No one that looked like her.

Melanie’s assumption was that I would meet her in the parking lot because drivers picking up travellers were supposed to stay with their cars.

“And never the twain shall meet.”  Well, you’ll be happy to know that the twain eventually met.  We drove home.  I fell into bed.  And I dreamt of tomorrow … another day.

My conclusion?

I don’t think much when I’m that tired

And tomorrow always comes