Saturday, July 15, 2017
Went to airport to fly to JFK, on the way to Paris. After clearing security, had leisurely snack at 42nd Street Oyster House. Strolled to gate. Discovered flight to JFK was cancelled. Panic. Re-routed to direct London flight, then flight to Paris. Major agita. This would mean going through Heathrow, the world’s worst airport. Got to Paris, went to baggage claim. Waited. Last bag came off flight. Not ours. More panic. Went to baggage office. Told by distracted young woman that our bags would arrive from Philadelphia. Philadelphia? What on earth were our bags doing in Philadelphia? Took taxi to apartment, unencumbered by luggage. Good news, everything worked. Bad news, computer was in luggage. Called. Was told luggage would be delivered the next day. Gave voice at other end the building code. Was called next day, told luggage would arrive between one and five in the afternoon. Waited. Got a call. Luggage would be delivered between five and nine p.m. Got cranky. Meanwhile, jets flew low overhead in Bastille Day display for Trump. Considered emigrating to Canada. Luggage arrived at 7:30. Walked to Brasserie Balzar. Assigned to table 37, my favorite. Had a dozen snails. Equanimity restored. Bonjour Paris!