Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and you’ve been fasting all week. Feeling faint and irritable, you head to LaGuardia ready to make the trek to the in-laws’. As you wait amid the throngs of crying children in line for security, you glance at the departures screen: your plane is delayed, of course. After being heavily petted by a TSA agent, you begin the long walk to your gate. As you slouch along the moving sidewalk, you see something out of the corner of your eye: could it be? Yes, it is. As if some supernatural force, good or evil you have not determined, had intervened, a McDonald’s beckons you from across the glass partition. You skip off the moving sidewalk and, pre-Thanksgiving diet be damned, decide you’ll just have a few fries. Two quarter-pounders later, you waddle to your gate, where you take the last empty seat in between two 30-somethings playing Angry Birds on their iPads at full volume. All this for a few nights on a fold-out in the Midwest? Just stay home.
Thanksgiving-eve travel; tickets, from cringe-worthy to jaw-dropping, available at your preferred bargain booking site.