ORD to FRA

We have a mere thirty minutes to wait to board our flight and so I queue up in the roped-off chutes designating ranges of row numbers. Within minutes I'm glad I did, being only six from the front of the line in my group followed by dozens of later-queuers.  I'm in line behind a lady with a Polish accent.

Perhaps the end-game gratitude in CLT toward the LH agents for finding me an actual flight "today" was too little too late -- given my flight from Chicago saw me sitting in the next-to-last row of the plane -- known for increased turbulance and last-out disembarkment. Nor were my profile preferences of "Aisle" and "Kosher" met. However, I count my blessings that I was only one aisle and the lap of a hibernating, ma'am-speaking Blackwater-type from very clean restrooms.

And after a not-half-bad meal, a half-glass of cheap red, and a half of a movie, I draped my dupatta over my head, turned toward the left toward the shaded windows, stretched my legs out, and slept.