I don't remember why the fork needed to be exchanged, but man I was pissed. I marched through the airport holding it in front of my face with a big frown and stood in line (the fork-exchangers' line?) for a long time. When I got to the head, the standing fork-exchanger, who had a captain's hat on, and one of those little half-suitcases that pilots carry, shrugged and left to get on his own flight.

Getting grumpier and grumpier, I stood there waiting for a new fork exchanger until I saw the clock behind the counter. It read two-something, about two hours after the time my ticket said my connecting flight was supposed to leave. I stared at the time on the clock and the time on the ticket until they both resolved to within a few minutes of each other, and then I abandoned the fork-exchangers' line, and set off running through the terminal. The (real) phone was ringing, waking me up.