I had nothing to do in the morning but go to the airport in Paris and catch my flight to New York. There was just one little wrinkle to that plan: my watch was set to the wrong time. When I flew from France to Morocco I had to set my watch back one hour. So when I returned to France from Morocco I set my watch ahead that same hour. The one thing I hadn’t considered was that Europe observes daylight savings time whereas Morocco does not. I should have set my watch two hours ahead in this instance as France sprung ahead an additional hour in my absence.
Despite being and hour behind schedule I thought I might make the flight, but the train to the airport was delayed. We made up some time, so I again thought perhaps I would make the flight, but it would be close. It was going to be a dash and really, in the grand scheme of things, it certainly wasn’t going to be the last plane from Paris to New York ever. Surely there would be one later in the day. It may have cost some money, but I had no doubt that by the end of the day, one way or another, I would be in New York.
The train arrived at the airport in Paris and I dashed through the terminal like OJ Simpson jumping over suitcases in the 1970’s Hertz commercial. The only difference was that I didn't have some woman yelling "Go Kevin, go!".
When I arrived at the counter the check-in was closed. With a little sweet talking and a lot of panting, I convinced the woman at the counter to check me in for the flight regardless. I hurried through security (if that is even possible), was the last person on the plane and nearly had the plane door hit me in the rear as they were closing it. My little vacation had come to a hurried end.