It was still night, and it was still snowing. One change of clothes in a backpack, a layer of tights under my jeans, I made my way through a foot and a half of snow (sandwiched between two layers of ice) down the hills to the train station at 5 in the morning. I'll be damned if I'm not going to make it to Los Angeles for Christmas! And I'll be damned if I'm going to miss this train just pulling up because I don't have time to buy a ticket!
The flight to LA boarded on time. Those of us fortunate enough to have purchased last-minute, cheap-o tickets hung our heads, not in shame but to hide our glee, as we walked through the gate crowded with hundreds of holiday travelers who'd been stranded at the airport in some cases, for days. As we were being de-iced (that poor bastard, I hope someone filled his stocking), the white stuff began to fall again in ernest, one hundred squeezed-in strangers held their collective breath. As the plane took off, only 30 minutes behind schedule, it was the first time I heard an entire flight of passengers clap at departure!
Of course, I may have over-anticipated the joy of actually being in LA for Christmas --I spent most of Christmas Eve day cleaning my brothers house.