It's the Economist, stupid

Jan 03, 2008 - 11:48 AM PST

I love reading The Economist. It is thorough, informative, has an international perspective, and is entirely too engaging for me to read it at any time other than when I am flying. I would read it every week but for a lack of time and an unwillingness to pick up such an expensive habit. When I’m flying, however, I can think of no better way to pass the hours away than to read an Economist from cover to cover. I was especially looking forward to reading the year end double issue during my long flight from California to upstate New York for the holidays. The day was unfolding perfectly. We had a late morning flight which meant we could rise at a reasonable hour. Our bags were packed the night before, allowing us a leisurely, worry free pace. We even managed to get a parking spot in the Econo Lot at our small regional airport. Security was a breeze. All that remained was a brief stop at the Hudson’s Bookseller on the way to our gate. My idyllic morning was abruptly shattered when the woman in front of me snatched the very last Economist from the rack. She recognized my plight, but fair is fair and she just plumb beat me to it. The clerk said she probably had more copies in the back, but the line of customers purchasing water (damn the TSA!) meant that I’d have to wait before she could leave her post. Well, I couldn’t wait. I had a flight to catch. Unnerved, I trudged to my gate and took the 15 minute flight to LAX.

Once there, we had a mad dash to make our connection to Chicago. We almost voluntarily gave up our seats to get a travel voucher, but the overworked gate agent had his hands full just getting the plane boarded. I eased into 17C and settled for a complimentary copy of Hemispheres magazine. In Chicago, we spent over 2 hours on a customer service line because our flight to Rochester was at first delayed by 4 hours and ultimately cancelled. The earliest we could get into Rochester was not until 24 hours hence. I asked about Buffalo, Syracuse, and even Albany. No go. The best we could do was to get a standby ticket to Syracuse that night.

We made haste to the Syracuse gate and passed by a totally different gate with a flight heading to Syracuse but leaving before ours. We stopped in to inquire and 15 minutes later we were airborne. We landed in Syracuse at 1:30 am and I headed to the Hertz counter to sort out our reservation. While I’m standing in line, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw the very same woman who made off with what I am sure was meant to be my Economist. “Excuse me, but I think I’m supposed to give this to you,” she said, pressing the British weekly into my hand. I was dumbfounded. "Yes, yes, I think you may be right about that," I replied.