On the flight, I wondered how I would get to my hotel in Colombo. There was no way the driver could know I’ll now be arriving 3 hours earlier than scheduled, at a pleasant 3:30 am. In addition, they had switched not only the flight number, but the airline as well. I had the feeling I was on the wrong flight, but I was going to the correct destination, so I figured it would somehow work out.

I jotted down the address of the hotel and figured I would try my luck with a taxi. If they were running at 3:30 am, that is. Once in Colombo (and utterly impressed by the airport, it’s gleaming white empty hallways a stark contrast to the dirt and bustle of Delhi) I collected my baggage and headed out to the taxis. There stood my driver with my name on a placard. Confused, I asked him how long he had been waiting. “Since midnight, ma’am.” Even more confused, I asked him why. “Your flight was changed, ma’am. It was due to arrive at midnight. The sign has been flashing “delay” “delay” “delay” for the last four hours.”

How come everyone else knew my flight was changed except me?

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