“Double rum and coke, sir? Its included”

I’d like to say that those were the happiest words I’d ever heard in my life — but given the conditions, they were actually a necessary solace.

Leaving paradise is always tough. I tossed and turned from 4AM this morning, unable to sleep, a hundred to-do’s from the “real world” competing for space in my consciousness. Already awake, I spent the pre-dawn on the beach, inhaling the salt air, listening to the waves, swimming in the water. The last day. I told myself that I’d make the most of it.

I dutifully made it to breakfast and the conference sessions — lighter topics, all of them, probably in anticipation of copious alcohol filled final evenings on somebody else’s expense.

After my last session, I went straight to the beach. More sun (certainly more than at sunrise), more sand, more surf. For hours to my departure, not a minute of freedom to miss. A little swimming, a (very) little vball (thanks Willie Wang, Steve Hong and John Kim). And then, the reality and pants and shoes and schedules. I was anticipating a long evening ahead, a flight with one transfer, arriving home at 11:30PM PST.

Upon our arrival at the airport, I discovered that our tough evening was worse than anticipated. Our original flight was running two hours late. To get home “tonight”, our flight would be reschduled, rerouted and generally made late. (I regretfully remember being asked if I wanted to stay another night….)

Flying thru Vegas, I’d land at 3AM, so given the time change, a full 27 hours after I started tossing and turning.

Long story short — I’ve finished a double, I’m writing this and I’m not going to work tomorrow.

Lets see how many doubles they’ll serve me. Cya soon.

PS: After we landed, my boss couldn’t find his bag AGAIN. However, on further inspection, it was on the carousel — just rather unrecognizable, as if a piece of machinery had decided that it felt that green bags were TASTY (yum). I waited a bit for him to gather his stuff and off we headed, glad to be home at last.