She wrote back that she was about to get on a plane in D.C. and her connecting flight was scheduled to arrive at Newark Airport in 90 minutes. Throughout our 15-year friendship, a remarkable range of words have passed between the two of us. This “meet me at the diner in Terminal C” thread was a new one.
In my inaugural blog post, I alluded to having more outlandish stories than most people I know. The “most people I know” qualification had this Jersey-bound friend in mind. She is someone whose stories can consistently top mine.
After a lively dinner, I dropped her off at her next flight’s boarding gate. I wanted to stand by the window and wave goodbye as her plane backed up and started taxiing toward the runway - that’s what my dad used to do with me, during the feel-free-to-escort-your-party-directly-to-the-gate era. But the line of passengers waiting to board my party’s connecting flight was as long as a Grateful Dead show and I needed to race downstairs to confirm that my suitcase – which had been sitting, unattended, in the baggage claim area for 4 hours - hadn’t become the subject of another outlandish tale.