The Modernism of Missed Flights

A Couple of Days in Philadelphia
(excerpt from the introduction)

I don't really know why I was surprised to learn that Philadelphia meant "brotherly love". It is right there in the name - philos "loving" + adelphos "brother". Until December 2023, I had never been to Philadelphia. I ended up spending much more time in the city than expected.

The desk clerk at the hotel was a large, affable woman who welcomed me and assured me that "you going to be alright honey, we got you". I had a good night's sleep. The next morning, I got dressed, ate a simple breakfast, got back on the shuttle and flew home. Easy, just inconvenient. Philadelphia was nice.

So nice, that in February, while on a weekend trip with Kat to Philadelphia, it happened again. We did all the things couples do in Philly. We posed under the big LOVE sign. We visited the Liberty Bell. We went to a poetry reading (where we were both the whitest and oldest people in attendance). It was fun.

It was at the Philadelphia Museum of Art that I received the first notice. My flight was cancelled. I called the airline. Was told to book a hotel, send the receipt, and was rebooked for the next day. Kat and I had an extra evening to explore. I would get back home tomorrow. In the morning, we had breakfast, and she dropped me off at the airport.

The clerk at the check-in desk said my flight was cancelled. "Yes, I know. I stayed in a hotel last night because my flight was cancelled." "Yes Sir, yesterday was cancelled and now, today is also cancelled."

I laughed. Another round of shuttle, hotel, breakfast was about to begin. I felt like it was a terrible remake of the movie, Groundhog Day.
It was during this waiting time that it became clear to me that this had become normal. Our systems work but not all the time. We expect them to work and in most instances they do. When they don't, it is all the unseen and often unappreciated people that keep things going. The clerk at the desk that sets me up with a little sustenance and a bed for the night. The clerk that checks me into my room. The people who drive the shuttle bus, mop the corridors, make the beds, set out the breakfast buffet, brew my coffee, and on and on. All these interconnected acts of labour. These people are often underpaid but they keep working. The "big bosses" who get the big salaries, bonuses, and stock options are those responsible for the delays and failures, yet it feels like nothing sticks to them. Even when they commit white collar crimes and sometimes get elected to office.

This is the modernism of missed flights. This is the era we live in. Some call it late-stage Capitalism. The wealthiest have rigged the rules of the game in their favour. The middle-class is squeezed and often clueless of the struggles of the working class. The working class keeps working in between the attacks on their very presence in society. It feels dangerously unbalanced and as we see, boils over into violence from time to time.

Amid this societal circus act are beautiful people, living their lives with grace and finding exaltation in celebration of each other. In the joy of family, friendship, and shared struggles. Maybe one day, we will look back and wonder what all this was about. Maybe, one day.

Hope you enjoy.

All my best,

Peter