I don't want to start hating France again.

So, I have my toast and throw my backpack over my shoulder and head off to Madrid. First, I catch the wrong bus to the airport. I took the bus that only takes you to the train station. So I wait at the train station and grab the next bus that will take me all the way to the airport. Still, I'm so early I have to wait around a bit before I can check in. Once I'm checked in things are fine, I actually get asked to do a survey about the airport so I got to practice my French a bit with the very nice survey girl. Time's going by and then about a half an hour before my flight is meant to leave, the monitor says it's delayed. About another five minutes later, the monitor says it's delayed two hours. Okay, so we were supposed to leave at 9 p.m., they tell us about the delay at 8:30 p.m., and at about 10 p. m. they inform that the flight is just completely cancelled. Chaos ensues since it's a new terminal and they didn't really have a contingency plan for cancelled flights. To make matters even more terrible, the French people are queuing at the worst and actually moving into the kiosk to hover over and shout at employees. Memorable phrase, "Il y a un enfant dans les bras de ma femme, aidez-moi maintenant!" (There is a baby in my wife's arms, help me right now!) All the Spanish speakers were franatically finding bilingual people to explain what was going on to them, everyone was on a cell phone calling friends, family, and cancelling hotels. Even doing my best at being French and not queuing, it took me a good hour to get to the kiosk and get my ticket changed. As soon as my passport was back in my hand I booked it back to the bus, just barely making it before it pulled out to head home. Five hours of my life, gone. Let's hope it doesn't happen again when I try once more to go to Madrid on Friday's flight.