Passenger Berman

I had to send an email. I had been trying to get to it since I staggered out of bed at 6:01am, but with a 6:45 am hotel checkout, a 7:00 am meeting time, and the laws of physics working against me, it just didn't happen.

So I found myself at LAX at 4:10 pm typing like the clappers at Wolfgang Puck's pizza emporium (don't drink the Chardonnay -- ghastly) when Winnie and Barbara, my trusty colleagues, realized we should have boarded 10 minutes ago.

"Go! Go!! GO!!! GO!!!!" I roared in panic. "Delay them! Hold the plane!! Don't let them leave without me!!!" (Increasingly feel like my life is an extended series of exclamation marks.)

For the second time this week, I delayed a plane and 327 other passengers. I ran, swearing lustily, up to the gate, trailing coats, bags, and computer cables, just as the attendant made his final announcement.

"Passenger Berman. Passenger Berman. This is your final boarding call. Please make your way IMMEDIATELY to Gate 78. Passenger Berman. This is your final chance for boarding. We all want to go now, you selfish old cow."

I will be flying again on Saturday. With my children. Had better school them in the art of No-Shame Flying, and Delaying Flights for Hysterical Mothers, fast.