Not too long ago, I had a connecting flight from Charlotte to San Fran. The layover was 30 minutes, and to add to the misery the inbound flight from Newark was exactly 30 minutes delayed.
Upon landing, I rushed to the first available ground attendant who declared that the gate was closed. I pleaded and implored, and the lady took pity on me. The only condition was I had to make it to the gate in 5 minutes.
I was in terminal B and my connecting flight was from the D terminal – about half a mile away. I sprinted like Usain Bolt and after a good 100 meters, I started panting. I pushed myself changing between dashing and sauntering. After another 200 meters, I was gasping for life. I somehow made it to the plane, half dead. Not sure if my checked baggage showed the same courage.
I finished a movie…
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