The last time you heard from me, I was wandering around Phoenix’s Sky Harbor International… The last time you heard from me, I was wandering around Phoenix’s Sky Harbor International Airport. I had been confined to sleeping in terminal three and had no Internet, little money and the most disappointing thing that could have happened to my tired self at that point: Starbucks had closed.

Now my caffeine options were not just limited, but they were also on severe life-support. I lucked out getting to see “Sunday Night Football,” since there was one TV by each gate that had “CNN Vision,” which randomly changed stations.

After finding various ways to entertain myself, I eventually nestled into my spot, which covered five chairs — all with armrests — around 1 a.m. I managed to hook my backpack around my leg, jam the laptop between my thighs, and lower my body so that I was below the armrests.

Sleeping on rocks would have been more comfortable.

I attempted to sleep, only to realize that the claim I had always made about being able to sleep in any position was now false. I had been living a lie and was paying for it now.

Two hours of tossing and listening to Tsunami reports from “CNN Vision” ended when a security guard came and told me I in fact couldn’t sleep there, even though another had told me that I could. Like I was sleeping anyway.

So I was booted from the terminal back onto the main concourse, which is very small in the part of the airport where I was. Still somewhat tired, I had one last idea before I was to abandon the idea of sleep.

Like Superman, I ducked into a phone booth around the corner, only I didn’t change into anything. I actually didn’t even come out; I laid out my stuff as best as I could and attempted to sleep.

Not even 10 minutes later, a walking security guard told me my time had expired.

Dragging my feet, I shuffled across the main concourse cursing to myself since I still had about nine hours until my flight and no place to lie down. No food places were open and Starbucks had closed, effectively taking my will to go on with it.

But then, something miraculous happened. While rummaging through my wallet, I dropped one of my critical boarding passes down a flight of stairs. I raced after it, dragging my laptop by its wheels with my essentially useless travel pillow and blanket atop it. I grabbed the boarding pass and looked up to a sweet surprise.

Another Starbucks.

This one, unlike the other feeble excuse for a coffee shop, stayed open 24 hours! I ran to the counter, ordered a venti house blend, loaded it with sugar and downed it. It was close to 3 a.m. at this point, but a few more drinks perked me up; I cranked out a few columns, charged my iPod and made it through the night with Starbucks at my side.

When it was time to re-enter my terminal for my flight later that morning, I gave the security guard a look while I was forced to take off my sneakers before proceeding through the metal detectors. I had absolutely nothing in my pockets and was wearing no jewelry of any kind. That being said, I don’t have to tell you what I heard next.

“Sir, are you sure you don’t have any metal in your pockets?”

Buy Geoff Dutelle a venti house blend at [email protected].