Newark

At the end of a long day of adding value as an advertising professional, I find myself marnooned at the saddest of airports, Liberty in Newark. The temperature is high. The air is thick and dank. The delays are for eternity.

We go stand by and don’t make the cut. So we are scheduled for the next flight, a few hours from now. After a fine plate of chicken at the Budweiser Brew Pub and a chilly frozen yogurt, we settle in.

We have been here before. We shall be here again. The threadbare carpet, the long faces on the staff, the never-ending agony of waiting.

A co-worker Lisa Borden was delayed and delayed and delayed until she was invited to stay over at a ratty hotel and begin her journey anew in the morn.

Co-worker Mary has a membership in the President’s Club so we are upgraded and soon we are seated surrounded by leather as drunks attempt to polish off the bar.

I find solace in a complimentary apple.