  Okay somebody out there didn't wish me good flying and on-time arrivals. How do I know this? Because it is 12:15 a.m. Saturday morning, and I'm typing out a blog entry from a spacious one-bed room in the Atrium Hotel in beautiful (rainy) Orange County! Yes, I got ripped a new one, travel-wise. Chicago was (as I should have known) buried under a pile of cloud so thick that apparently planes couldn't penetrate it.
Thus, all planes were delayed. Thus, I miss my connecting flight. Thus, I take another flight which I book by calling a number that, although American Airlines gives it out to passengers, the voice on the other end belongs to a very articulate species of monkey which cannot properly book a flight to save its life.
Thus, I get to OC and am told that despite what I may have heard ("they will give you a travel voucher in OC") they will not give me a travel voucher. This is not John Wayne Airport Staff's fault; they were flabbergasted that anyone would imply that such a thing existed ("that's like, a $250 cab ride!"). Which brings us to the present. I sit, in smelly travel clothes, in a not-too-shabby hotel near the airport (courtesy of American, at least) about to go to sleep and dream of tomorrow, when I will rent a car and drive my own ass home.
Because if you want something done right, sometimes you've got to do it yourself. If I find out who forgot to wish me well, I will end you. post-script: I met a cute Italian girl on the plane. If I weren't stuck in Orange Country, that would be the highlight of the trip. post-post-script: Also I have neither of my checked bags. Unlike me, I suspect they arrived in San Diego just fine. 
