You’re waiting in an airport bar. Overpriced drinks aren’t doing much to dampen your frustrations. What are the odds of weather delays and a pilot strike at the same time?! Everything is canceled, and every hotel in the area is booked solid. Looks like this pseudo-tropical themed bar is home for the next 24-48 hours.
“Why did I have to go see my family for Christmas?! It’s always the worst time to travel!”
You sink into your third double margarita, trying not to think about your upcoming night on the airport floor.
Across the bar, two men are in much better spirits. Laughing and throwing back shots. Each impeccably dressed in dark suits, ties long since discarded. They’re celebrating something. I guess someone is enjoying the layover!
Before too long, one approaches you.
“Why so dour?” He asks.
“Who says ‘dour’ these days? It isn’t Victorian England!” You snap.
“True enough.” He deflects. “Regardless, you look upset.”
“I guess the thought of a night on this disgusting floor is turning my mood.”
“You don’t have to sleep here.” He says. My friend and I have a suite. You’re welcome to the second bedroom if you want.”