I am in the Rochester airport right now. Which, all things considered, is a decent airport. I am not, however, supposed to be in Rochester right now. I was never supposed to be in Rochester. Right now, I'm supposed to be in Chicago. Actually, I'm supposed to be about an hour away from LA now, where I was going to spend the rest of the afternoon researching apartments for next year.
To summarize my week thus far for those who have not been updated. I'm in New York on a work trip right now. I was at Rome, NY earlier this week (site of the Air Force Research Laboratories) to do a demo and attend some meetings. After that, I was going to (actually, am) travel to LA to try and find an apartment for the upcoming school year. Then, Monday evening, I'm going home.
Problems started Sunday night. The middle leg of our outgoing flight (from San Francisco to Philadelphia) was canceled without notice -- we were lucky to find out about it and rebook before we got to the airport. Then, due to weather in SF, our flight out of Eugene was delayed by two hours (and a further half-hour of orbiting over the SF airport). Which of course made us miss our connection and resulted in us spending the night in DC, rather than Rome. All of which would be OK, except that since I'm on the road for a week and a half, I checked my luggage. And, of course, my luggage was not there to greet me in Syracuse. Nor did it choose to arrive for several days. And when it did finally arrive, United sent it to my hotel. Which I'd already told them I'd checked out of, since I was driving back to Syracuse that evening. Fortunately, I found out about this before we'd actually left town, so we stuck around for a couple extra hours to pick the damn thing up (yay for clean clothes!).
Yesterday evening, we decided to print out our boarding passes online, rather than doing it at the airport. The fact that none of the three of us had assigned seats should have been a hint. Our flight was overbooked (by five people!), and they were looking for volunteers. Since I don't need to be in LA until tomorrow morning, I volunteered, but there was no way they could get me out that evening. But I'd stuck my neck out, and they knew I was weak. They struck, and I was bumped (my two coworkers, though, made it onto the flight without issue). The very nice lady at the ticket counter tried hard, but was unable to find anything before tomorrow. However, we figured out that if I could get to Rochester, there was a flight out that afternoon that I could take.
So, bidding my bags adieu (I hope to Christ they're waiting for me in LA), I hopped on the Greyhound down to Rochester. So far, I have had a conversation with a 71-year-old man in the Greyhound station (who's going back to his father's first church to find his roots, and then wants travel somewhere. Also, he told me he was the mayor of Fairfax, CA, used to program mainframes, and that he was featured in a recent album by the Psychedelic Cowboys (who are, in fact, a real band, so maybe he really is the mayor), and an evangelist taxi driver who very politely argued religion with me for a 20-minute car ride. I'm now exhausted, going to do more apartment research, and hope that nothing goes wrong with the rest of my trip.