What a fucking doozy of a weekend.

Thursday night, I tempted fate by getting into a cab 55 minutes before my 2:55 pm flight for San Fran, for the 13th and final callback. Lulled by the ease with which you can get the next flight to New York, I assumed it would be fine to slip on the flight or get the next one.

Wrong, my dear stupid hk, formerly favorite of the gods and now anything but.

I got to the self-service check-in American Airlines counter and slid my card for ID purposes, punched the buttons and got no love: "You may no longer check into this flight. Please choose the next flight available."

The next flight was at 7 pm. I'd get into SF at 10:30 pm.

I got the attention of an agent and said, "Look, I can't check into my flight."

"What time is your flight?"

"2:55."

"You have to check in 30 minutes before the flight. You're too late."

"It's 25 minutes before the flight!"

"The system won't let you do it."

"Then override the system! They're still boarding! I can make it!"

"No, they're in final boarding. And I can't override the system."

And the agent turned away to help someone else.

I stood there, stunned. My plane was boarding, and they wouldn't let me get on. It was still at the fucking gate, and they wouldn't let me get on. My face burned, as if someone had slapped me.

After a few minutes of standing impotently at the self-service counter, I called the firm's travel agent and explained. Was there another flight, an earlier one than 7 pm? Yes, there was, he answered, but it went through Los Angeles. I would arrive at 9:30, though, an hour earlier than the 7 pm direct. Would that be okay? Yes, I said, and went to the American Airlines full-service (and that "service" is meant ironically, lemme tell you) counter.

I explained the situation to a female agent and asked about getting on that 3:45 pm flight. After staring at her computer for 5 minutes, she went without a word to a couple of other agents a few feet away, who appeared to be flirting with a delivery guy.

Another 5 minutes passed.

A woman in a white zip-up sweater rushed over, calling, "Patricia! Patricia, I need you!"

Patricia was the agent who was supposedly helping me. As she passed me on her way to the other side of the American Airlines area, she graced me with a glance and a wave toward one of the other agents, "She's helping you, okay?"

Another 5 minutes passed.

A male agent took over the research, and said there were no seats on the 3:45, or the connection from L.A. to S.F. There WERE seats on the 7 pm, but only 10, and "American likes to sell seats at the last minute, so I don't know if you'd be able to get on." He shrugged.

I called the travel agent and explained. "Well," he said, "I could get you a seat on the plane, but it would cost $600."

"Six hundred dollars!" I gasped. "I don't think the firm is going to authorize that!"

"Well, I'll call and ask."

"No, no, it's fine, I'll just go stand-by and take my chances."

"But it's the last flight of the night, and if you don't get on it, you won't be flying out tonight. Let me call her. Hold on."

He came back with authorization.

I had just cost the firm $900. Before even stepping on the airplane.

Christ.

AND I had to wait at the airport for 4 hours. Waiting at the airport is on the short list of the things I hate most in the world, and was the main reason why I'd left for the airport so late to begin with.

And herein lies the lesson of the story: hie thee to the airport early.

It's got to have SOMEthing to do with the fact that it was the 13th callback.

bigbro picked me up at SFO, bleary-eyed with fatigue, and took me to the apartment, where J1 had set up the living room with the Aerobed, topped off with cream coverlet and a box wrapped in blue and tied in gold ribbon. There were irises on the side table, and towels on the nightstand. There were 6 piles of goodies on the dining table: 2 fuzzy hand-me-down sweaters (one of which I am wearing now), bath salts, chocolate bars, samples from Calvin Klein (where J2 works now -- thanks, J2!), a sexy silk shirt, and a pile of yoga clothes and towels for me to borrow (because I loooove the Bikram yoga classes J1 introduced me to last year). Not to mention the totally awesome and amazingly effective Tempur-pedic eye mask that was in the blue box on the bed.

Awwwwww, yeaaaaahh. I love coming to visit bigbro and J1. J1 always has the coolest clothes, the coolest home decor, the coolest -- everything, really. I borrowed Malcolm Gladwell's "The Tipping Point" last week, and it occurred to me that J1 is a Maven and a Connector, in Gladwell's terms. She knows about an amazingly wide range of products, and is eager to share that knowledge, like a Maven. She also seems to know an endless parade of people, and so disseminates that knowledge like a Connector.

(Sidenote: Gladwell is a fast read and terribly interesting -- I read "Blink" on MattSal's recommendation last year -- but his social science is hardly impeccable. There's no escaping the appeal, though, of his books -- they describe everyday social phenomena like trends and fads with exuberant confidence.)

Where was I? Oh yes, at home with bigbro, sharing cigarettes and chowing down on the chicken salad J1 made.

After a nice chat, to bed it was, and a restful sleep too, with the Tempur-Pedic mask securely on.

I drove to my callback the next morning, arriving just in time despite leaving the house an hour and 15 minutes early. Traffic.

The callback was fine. All white men. The associates were unusually good-looking. Everyone wore jeans. The views of the Bay were amazing. It's a very small office of a very Big and Mighty Firm based in New York, but it's got a very California feel to it.

Since the firm gave me an all-day pass for the parking garage, I changed in the car and slipped outside after the interviews. bigbro had recommended a Vietnamese place across the street, so I went there and ordered shrimp and noodles and boba tea and vegetarian dumplings. I found a place to sit down and read "The Tipping Point." It was lovely.

After lunch, I walked around town, admiring the steep hills and gazing at the Victorian architecture against the azure sky. It was lovely. Found a teeny museum of design that was featuring the art of wine bottle labels, and spent half an hour in there enjoying the artwork.

I figured I could beat the rush hour traffic if I left around 4:30, forgetting that the West Coast is on an earlier schedule (I remember going to work by 8 or 8:30 when I interned at the Los Angeles mayor's office long ago). Oops! I spent a full hour just getting out of the city, and then an additional hour on the freeway. Dear lord, how do people live with this traffic?

I got home and, not being very hungry, nibbled on nuts and cheese and olive. Washed down with half a bottle of white wine. While watching Matrix Reloaded. Twice (kind of by accident). Whee!

Which brings us to today. I got a good start to the day -- went to yoga class at 9:30 and enjoyed it, even though my body is clearly stiff and out of shape. I was still anxious by the end of it, but felt cleansed and drained. I imagined what it might be like to do this regularly. To be all healthy and crunchy and California. I thought it might be pretty nice.

Driving back to the apartment, I took a little detour through the town of Burlingame, looking at the happy people strolling along, waiting for tables for brunch, getting their coffee. I drove through a couple of residential streets too, and found myself looking at those tidy houses and yards with flowers with a strange, powerful longing. Could it be that I want to nest now? Three couples I know have recently bought homes. Am I experiencing house envy?

Or maybe I just want to stay in one place for a while. For a change.

I went back to the apartment and took a shower, looking forward to a good day's work. I'd write up my notes about this final callback, deal with receipts, deal with the project for Student Org #2 that I am coordinating, and read for class.

It is now 7 pm. I have done none of those things. Instead, I:
- watched TV
- talked to Charm a couple times, dithering about whether we should get together tonight
- went for a very short walk, during which I called Charm again, and
- cried on the phone with Charm about the work, about the interviews, about feeling that I was on the wrong path.

I can't quite believe I've wasted an entire day. And I don't think I can deal with doing any work after I finish with this entry either. I don't know, it's like I've hit a wall, and I just can't function any more. Not for a little while.