Last Friday I had agreed to give my friend (“The Compulsive Liar”) a ride to the airport.  Even though I was still feeling icky from everything that had happened on Sunday, I stuck to my word.  I picked her up at 2, even though she said her flight wasn’t til 5, and the airport is only an hour away.

The trip started out normal enough:

TCL: So what happened yesterday?

Me: I had a really bad asthma attack and–

TCL: OHMYGAWD did I tell you <insert random statement about imaginary directing job/interview/boy with strangely exotic name>

I tuned out for most of the drive and imagined the nice, quiet walk I would enjoy at my favorite mall halfway home.  Then, when we were ten minutes from the airport…

TCL: What’s with these signs for “**** Airport?”  My plane leaves from ****.

Me: In New York?!

TCL: Yeah.

At this point, we’re about 10 minutes from the Massachusetts border.  We’ve been driving in the complete opposite direction for over an hour and she’s said nothing.

Me: Oh my God…I’m so sorry.  We’re never going to make it.

TCL: Yeah we totally will.  Just turn around.


Me: Have you been to this airport before?

TCL: Yeah…loads of times.

Me: So…um…you’re aware that the highways are pretty much parking lots from 5-8 around there right?

TCL: Yeah, but we’ll totally be there by 5.  (It was currently 3:30.  The airport in question is 1.5 hrs away without traffic.)

In the end, I made it home in a speedy 6 hours and she made her flight…because she also had the time wrong.