indisputable proof of jinx

My job (or rather, the folks who determine whether or not I HAVE a job) has deemed it necessary for me to travel to Columbus, OH a couple of times this summer. I was supposed to leave tonite for a lovely week trying to look like a human after sleeping on hotel pillows-- which tend to have a consistency remarkably similar to day-old polenta, in my experience. Instead, my flight got delayed past the point at which catching my connector would have been possible, so they sent me home and rebooked me for one of those delicious buttcrack flights. Yay.

For those readers unfamiliar with the history of my travel woes, I must direct you to these old posts: August 1, 2006, December 23, 2006,and April 20, 2007. Herein, you shall find the history of my travails.

So, here's my new theory: The real problems started on the return leg of my trip to DC to interview for the aforementioned job. That was a Friday. I got the call on Monday morning that I'd actually gotten the job, so I assume that they'd decided I was hired right away. And ever since then, the EASIEST flights I've had have entailed no less than a 4-hour delay. Hell, delays are for babies. Try being stranded overnight without a tampon in the most dilapidated flophouse in the greater Dallas area. THAT'LL make a real woman outta ya! But regardless, I'm beginning to think that there's some correlation between my working where I work and the great and dark pall that drops over any given airport upon my arrival.

Dear air travel gods: If I quit my job, would you let me fly happy again? Pretty please? With a $19 sandwich and a $6 bottle of water on top? Please?