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I write this on behalf of the thousands -- maybe tens of thousands -- of Americans who've had what I shall call "a bad airport experience" this summer. I had one last Friday at New York's LaGuardia Airport, one of the nation's busiest.

Mine had nothing to do with the usual gripes about excessive airport security. You've heard those tales. Such as the one about the 95-year-old woman or the 2-year-old toddler who were pulled aside to be patted down and "wanded" because they fit the profile of terrorists. I've been patted down and "wanded" on several occasions and it's never bothered me. I don't even mind taking off my shoes, though Britain has overcome the shoe-bomber scare and no longer requires passengers to go shoeless through security checks.

When I removed my shoes the other day at LaGuardia, I noticed that my big toe had poked a hole in my stockings. The security agent noticed it, too. He glanced at my toe and shrugged. He's seen it all. Besides, the man in front of me had a hole in his sock.

My "airport experience" last week had nothing to do with security issues but with Mother Nature. I'd been in Manhattan visiting family and arrived at LaGuardia two hours early. I'm compulsive about arriving at airports on time. Even two hours early is fine.

When I left Manhattan that morning, the skies were cloudy. By the time I got to LaGuardia, they had darkened. Two hours later, my flight, scheduled to board at 3 p.m., was canceled. "Bad weather up and down the East Coast," the U.S. Airways agent explained.

We "canceled" passengers huddled together like lost children. A common crisis bonds people. We got to know each other's names, professions, why we were traveling, accounts of previous bad airport experiences. Cell phones worked overtime to notify family and friends in North Carolina of our plight. One passenger was going to a family reunion; another to a wedding; another had been working in New York all week and wanted to go home to his family in Raleigh. We all had our stories.

But what next? Later flights to North Carolina were fully booked, but they, too, were being canceled. Passengers rushed to ticket agents to reserve seats on anything that might possibly take off late that night heading to North Carolina or points South.

Our gang began signing up to fly standby on a 9 p.m. flight to Raleigh. I was No. 6 on standby, meaning my chances of getting a seat would probably be nil. But it was worth a try.

It was beginning to look as if we'd be stranded at LaGuardia for the night. We needed to make reservations for the following day. Too late. All flights were already booked. So maybe we'd be stranded for two days.

One man suggested we rent a van and drive all night to North Carolina. He got no takers. I had decided that spending the night at LaGuardia Airport, even on the floor, was the best plan. Returning to Manhattan and finding a hotel that night was too big a hassle. Besides, it was stormy outside.

Meanwhile, hours slowly passed. I read newspapers, magazines, walked, talked, ate junk food, talked, noticed the bathrooms were getting messy. And I constantly monitored flight information.

Finally, as the night wore on, the weather slowly began to improve. A few planes began landing and taking off. About 9:30 p.m., a voice on the intercom announced the flight to Raleigh-Durham Airport.

Our gang had managed to get tickets on it. Our weary faces turned to smiles. People gave each other high-fives. Some clapped.

More than seven hours after arriving at LaGuardia, I finally boarded a plane for North Carolina. We landed in Raleigh about 11 p.m.

The next morning LaGuardia had another bad day. A man arrived at LaGuardia about 5:30 a.m. with a bag that appeared to be a bomb. It later turned out to be a fake.

LaGuardia was evacuated. Flights were canceled. Roads were clogged with people, taxis and buses. And I was sound asleep in North Carolina, thank goodness.

Rosemary Roberts writes a column on alternate Fridays. E-mail: rmroberts@triad.rr.com