So, when it is good to be late? Let's find out.
Despite a running through the terminal like O.J. Simpson, I was late. I remember pounding on the door and yelling at the gate attendants to stop the plane. They didn't. Instead, they stopped me. "I gotta be in New York by five or I lose the client!" I shouted. "Then you should have been here by two-thirty," grumbled the cop as he handcuffed me. Two hours later, they opened my holding cell. "The plane went down over Indiana," said a guard. "You're the luckiest man on earth." I called the client to explain, but luck only goes so far. Bastards.
I wasn't sure how to end this one and I had 1 word left. Best I could do is think that the guy was so focused on getting to New York and losing the client, he would have rather gone down on the plane.
