good thing I don't brush my teeth

(would hate not to have had skin on them)

My flight to Amsterdam was at 10:35 am. I woke up at 7:50 with the goal of catching the 9:20 bus. Piece of cake. I left my house frantically at 9:13, took a velo'v, biked recklessly to the station with my suitcase balanced on the basket, and screeched to a stop next to the driver who was finishing his cigarette. Leaving my suitcase as a gesture of goodwill, I dashed to the bike stand and returned my bike. Since the stand is right next to the bus stop, I could see him close his door and start pulling away as I did this. Of course, the light was red, and there were lots of buses ahead of him, so he was just stopped. I waved at him, showed him my ticket, and pleaded. He refused to open the door. I should have flashed him as an inducement.

I hesitated for a bit there. I have taken a taxi to the airport in these circumstances. On the other hand, there was no reason for me to be in Amsterdam today. It was only because this flight was way cheaper that I had taken it. So I decided to force myself to relax, and take the 9:40 bus, scheduled to arrive at 10:15, right at "last call" for my flight. I did my best. On the bus, I did the full check, and emerged beltless, watchless, etc. I ran, recklessly again, to security, cut in front of a severely disabled person (no, really), asked my way ahead of several other (non-disabled) people, and spread my stuff out on the belt, cutting in front of someone I hadn't asked. I set off the machine because I'd forgotten my coins. Security was sanguine about me making it despite being so late. I was through at 10:25, ten minutes before my flight was to leave. I ran to gate 21E, which was completely deserted. No sign of anything. I was far too late. I slowed down, and saw a carte d'identité on the floor -- not the crappy carte de sejour that I have, but the real deal. I picked it up and walked to customer service. She also seemed surprised that I would have missed my flight, and looked it up. "La porte a changée," she said. "21G." I ran off again, and came to 21G, which seemed to be boarding for Paris. I asked, Amsterdam? He said, no. Amsterdam is another gate, further down. 21J, which in French is pronounced G, and which I never hear as J. I ran there as they were making last call, and handed them the id card. They thanked me and asked to see my own.