"Um, don't you arrive later?" our car rental agent asked. It was 5am and we were standing in a tiny, plywood-clad hallway just outside of the baggage claim, with 80 lbs of baggage and about an hour of sleep between us. "Huh," he added.
It was a bad sign.
Our trip was relatively efficient, with a direct Southwest flight from Nashville to Boston, then an overnight flight to Reykjavík on WOW Air (yes really). Over the course of the flight, the sun set and rose several times as we trended further and further north. The plane descended rapidly through layer after layer of clouds, and we didn't see land until moments before touchdown.
At 4:30am, there's not a lot of competition for bathroom stalls, baggage claims, and customs agents, so we moved quickly through the airport, and met the rental agent waiting for us. He was unnervingly surprised when we told him our names.
After considering the situation for a moment, he motions for us to follow him, and walks briskly out into the parking lot and into a shuttle. He glances down at his schedule papers, noting the names of the other clients scheduled for pickup.
"Eh, Matthew can wait," he shrugs.
At the rental office, he apologizes for not having our paperwork ready, thinking we were arriving at noon. He begins to fill out the papers, then pauses and picks up the phone. After a minutes-long conversation in rapid Icelandic, he puts down the phone.
"I'm very sorry, but your car will not be ready for two hours. You can wait here, or you can come with me back to the airport, and hang out there."
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