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?!
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.