Once again this past week, I headed back to the west coast for about a week and a half of bouncing around California for work. I flew out on one of the first flights from JKF to San Francisco on Thursday morning and as usual, I booked a towncar for the drive to the aiport from the city. My pick-up time was 5:00 am and the car service called a few minutes before that to confirm that the driver would be on time.
Just before 5:00, I gathered my bags and headed downstairs to meet my driver. The doorman on duty looked up at me sympathetically as he glanced at his watch and saw me dragging a suitcase behind me yet again.
The towncar was right outside the door just as dispatch had promised and as soon as he saw me, the driver popped out, hoisted my suitcase into the trunk and held the door for me to climb into the backseat.
Once we were both settled in our seats, he looked up at me in the rearview mirror and said "Is Mr. Stewart not joining us this morning?"
I know it was 5:00 am and I was barely awake, but I was still pretty sure that I didn't even KNOW a Mr. Stewart, and I definitely had not made arrangements for any sort of pre-dawn shared airport ride with him.
As you could probably guess, this was not my car and in fact, it was not even my car service. My car was actually a block away because his dispatch gave him the wrong cross-street.
When I finally did track down the right car, I laughingly told the driver the story and said something about how all towncars look alike, but he didn't think it was that funny. I didn't think it was very funny that he drove like a freaking maniac all the way to the airport. I was definitely wide awake (due to the adrenaline alone) by the time we pulled up at the American Airlines terminal.
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