Tamar saw me and he demanded to talk. I had booked my flight, had even checked in my luggage and had about forty five minutes before boarding. Tamar and I talked. I left and he wanted to talk more. I did not want to be even more delayed. The boarding desk was in a different part of the building, away from the building where the checking desk was, although I knew I could go from one to the other all the way indoors. I looked at the clocks and saw that I had seven minutes left. I had been at the desk before but I could not remember how to get there from where I was. A member of the airport staff told me about the public phones from where I could get information. I got to one of those phones. The voice at the other end laughed at me for wanting information, or expecting to find information there. The whole exercise of explaining my situation and where I needed to go and being laughed at for expecting information cost me about one minute of the seven I had. I would have to run to the desk but I still did not know in what direction.
A friend of mine was around and I asked her, she offered to run to the desk with me. We ran around the terminal buildings, on the outside. That was about five more minutes. Then I had to enter the building. I was upset because I knew we could have run on a straight line indoors, instead of going all round the perimeter of the buildings. She had made me waste previous minutes but I still had to run inside; I did not have time for discussions.
I knew I was late but I tried to be let in, just in case it worked. I begged at the desk but the receptionist said bluntly that being two minutes late meant I could not be allowed on board. The boarding was closed and I had missed my flight. I did not know the exact extent of the implications of my missing my flight. But I knew it would have devastating effects. I tried to think of an alternative means of travel but there was none. The next available flight was in about five days time and that really was not an option. I was lost.