For once, my appetite for pastry saved the day.
The Atlanta airport has several concourses. Thursday afternoon my flight landed at concourse D and I noted a Cinnabon. I passed it by, naturally thinking that there was one in every concourse. Au bon pain distracted me long enough to make my flight and I traveled on to Philadelphia where I spent several days eating at restaurants of my choice and not of my choice. The novelty of Au bon pain is that there is not one servicing my pastry needs. Surely if it was an everyday thing, I'd not be so enamored of it.
When I stopped at Atlanta again and my flight landed at concourse B I went in search of Cinnabon. The main directory listed Cinnabon at concourse A. My traveling companion and I parted ways. We had about an hour to board our connecting flight to Tri-Cities, and she didn't want to be late to the gate following up my whim.
On to concourse A, where there was no Cinnabon. The directory at A listed D as the home of Cinnabon and our flight was leaving from concourse C, so no problem, they're adjacent. In the interest of saving time, I asked two airport workers which direction Cinnabon was, and they pointed me to the right. I walked and walked. Thought I saw a line, but that was at Burger King.
The Cinnabon counter was strangely free of cinnamon rolls. They were shut down? All out of cinnamon rolls?
[At this point in my story Ian told me that there aren't as many red-eye flights as there once were and as such, many airport eateries have limited their operating hours accordingly.]
I considered writing a nasty letter to the airport and to Cinnabon as well. Didn't even have time to compose it in my mind. Just went on my way, in dismay, in abject disappointment. It was pure luck that as I passed by a gate at concourse D I looked up and saw a flight to Tri-Cities departing at the same time as mine. I checked my flight number against the one at the gate.
They matched. Yup, they not only changed gate numbers, but complete concourses, too. About that time, I got a text message from my traveling partner telling me to go directly to the gate I stood in front of. I approached the gatekeeper and asked her if the flight was boarding. She said yes. I walked down the ramp and onto the plane. My traveling partner arrived about ten minutes later and boarded the plane after rushing to the gate.
The moral of this story is that the tummy knows! My desire for cinnamon rolls endowed me with a form of ESP, thus allowing me to be in the exact right place at the exact right time. How's that for tummy luck?