Flying in the Rain

I’m getting on a plane in a few hours to attend some focus groups in Chicago  for a client, and I’m a bit on edge because of all the storm reporting from TV weathercasters over the past few days.

I’m grateful that I’m not facing the threat of killer tornados by flying to Omaha this week (as I did a week ago for a meeting).  But I am facing expected windgusts of more than 50 miles per hour.  And do you know how that feels when you’re in a 60-seater regional jet?

Like a tornado.

My husband called as he drove to work during a downpour that produced the predictable back-ups on main arteries leading from Northern Virginia to downtown Washington, D.C.  He thought it best to encourage me to plan on leaving for the airport a little bit earlier than normal, which is usually plenty early anyway because of my time compulsion.  ("Hate to be late" is my mantra).

So, I’ll leave in about 30 minutes, do a quick ATM stop (so I don't have to pay $5 in miscellaneous banking fees for using an ATM that isn't owned by my bank -- outrageous!)  and head to the airport where most of my time will be spent scouring the parking garages for a spot.  And then I’ll head into TSA’s security line, shoeless, coatless and fearless about the trip ahead (not).

I’m prepared for this trip, however; I’ve downloaded a movie, brought the Bose earbuds, and and am cautiously optimistic that the distraction of watching something on my iPad will keep me from having a stroke when the turbulence hits.

Pray for me.