If my outgoing flight had been in the same terminal, I would've had time to make the flight, it wasn't. Nope, we landed at terminal F and I had to take the shuttle alllll the way around to terminal A...and then run down the entire terminal because of course my flight departed from the very end of the terminal. Though, I don't know if you could classify the way I was moving as running, between my backpack on my back, a bag in one hand and clutching my ticket in the other, I'm pretty sure I resembled and mad woman waddling in a hurried manner through the terminal.
So I missed my flight. Now what? I called my parents to let them know what happened and then got my ticket replaced. I was given a voucher for a hotel and just as I was starting to feel very small and lost in the airport, my brother called me and helped me figure things out. I ended up figuring out where I needed go, called and booked a hotel, found the shuttle to get me there and finally, around 11:30pm, I flopped onto the hotel bed. And I didn't move until it was absolutely necessary. I slept into a shocking 9:30 the next morning, had some breakfast, called the shuttle and got ready to head out to the airport.
So now here I am, sitting at the airport waiting for my 8:40 flight and wishing so much that I could be with my group in Manchester right now as they are looking at antique garments. *sigh* Oh well, least I was still in U.S. so I could use my cell to make phone calls, and I'll be on my way in roughly four hours.
For now though, I think I'll search out some tea and finish my book. Cheerio!