Nice airport

Usually I’m running through the airport when I’m out there, trying to make a flight or trying to get to baggage claim and get the hell out of Dodge.
Today I was forced into an extended sojourn in our nice relatively-new midfield terminal. I left at noon to pick Sally up from her flight in from Baltimore, and I figured I’d eat lunch there and read the paper and have a nice leisurely wait till her plane got in at 1:40.
She called me at 1:01 and told me that she was back in Baltimore because they had taken off, the windshield had cracked, they had returned to Baltimore, and they were waiting for another plane. Pilot said that he’d been flying for 20 years and had only had windshields crack twice.
Said second plane didn’t leave Baltimore till 2:03 and didn’t arrive in Indy until 3:35.
But the new terminal is very nice, even if the announcements are loud and often bilingual. After an hour or so of dueling announcments in English and Spanish, I felt like standing up and yelling back, “This is the United States! Speak ENGLISH!”
But I didn’t. Should have, would have, could have.