6 a.m. Blues

When I worked at Robins Air Force Base, Georgia, in the early 1980s, members of my department sometimes flew to Dayton, Ohio, for meetings at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. For our return flights, we had a choice of either a 6 a.m. or a 9 a.m. flight back to the Macon, Georgia airport. We always chose the 9 a.m. flight, arrived in Atlanta around 10 a.m., changed planes, and would arrive at Macon around 1 p.m. The majority of us would return to work for the rest of the day.

My manager attended one of these trips once and demanded that we schedule the 6 a.m. return flight so we’d return in time to do plenty of work at the office. He wanted the taxpayers to get the most for their money.

There was dissension in the ranks. Some of these coworkers refused to travel for work on weekends, the thought of leaving the hotel in time to make a 6 a.m. flight wasn’t popular. He was the boss, and we eventually agreed.

We flew to Ohio and attended meetings at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. On the final night of our trip, we settled in for an early wake-up call. We all arrived at the Dayton, Ohio airport in time for the 6 a.m. flight home. Except, we discovered the 6 a.m. flight was canceled that day. Luckily, they had enough empty seats for the 9 a.m. flight, so we sat around the airport for an extra three hours.

Our manager was apologetic. We didn’t give him a hard time; we were too sleepy. The Dayton airport had an excellent candy store, and I bought a giant bag of candy for comfort. I didn’t weigh as much then. We eventually took the 9 a.m. flight home and put in a few half-hearted hours at work that afternoon.

A few months later, our manager scheduled another meeting at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. He suggested we take the 9 a.m. return flight. None of us argued with him.