The LGA -> IAD flight was a clusterfuck. It was a little commuter jet, and once we'd all boarded they had to bump three people because the plane was over weight. Once that got straightened out, we found out we had a 25-minute delay for takeoff. I found this extra special charming, since I only had 45 minutes for my connection in Dulles.
When we landed, I had a text message from United saying that they'd booked me on a flight four hours later. Fuckity fuck. Still, I thought there was a slight chance that I could make it to my original flight, and went dashing through the airport from terminal A to terminal C.
Boarding had closed when I got to the gate. Shit. Still, the very nice agent called down to the plane to see if they'd closed the aircraft door yet. They hadn't! I dashed onto the plane, curled up in a seat I wasn't assigned to (but there were three empty seats next to it) and away I went.
Now I'm sitting in Heathrow trying to remember what twisted bit of logic made me think it was a good idea to schedule a four-hour layover in Heathrow. At 6 a.m. natch. My ticket can't be changed, and BMI doesn't do standby, so here I sit. La la la la la. Thank a deity I don't even believe in for wifi.