Reykjavik Run

So we landed in Reykjavik, and got off the plane.  These things happened.

1. We, and hundreds of other people, had to get through customs.   As we and the 400 other people were herded like well organized cattle (no flocking up the escalator and causing a jam for the Icelanders), we saw the queue of people to get through customs...and our flight was boarding already.  As we wound through the queue, an older woman from the east coast kept saying, over and over..."This is ridiculous, I mean what are they thinking, we're never going to make our flight, this is ridiculous."  We were happy when we moved to a new line they opened.
2. We actually got through said queue super quickly - only in about 10 minutes, and then we fast walked to our gate.  We jumped in line, as the plane was boarding and I said to the woman in front of me, "This is Paris, flight 542, right?"  And she responded yes.  So in those 10 minutes that we waited in line to board I thought PHEW!  That really could have been bad.  And then as I handed my boarding pass to the gate agent, a bad noise came out of her machine and the words "WRONG FLIGHT" popped up on the screen.  Oh yes, that flight was going to Orly - the other airport in Paris.  Super!!
3. As she checked the gate number for me, we ran to it - it was only 4 gates down.  So we ran.  Down an escalator where someone said, "You'd better hurry."  Thanks genius.  And as we came to the bottom of the escalator I said, "Where is gate 27?!" and the person said, "through there, on the bus."   Um...on the bus??   So we jumped on the bus.
4. We then waited on the bus for between 10-15 minutes, determined everyone on the bus was on our flight, felt a little better that they probably wouldn't take off with 25 people missing, and then waited.  The bus then drove us out onto the tarmac toward the plane.  Did I mention it was pouring rain?  Yes, it was.
5. We arrived at our plane, sitting in the middle of the tarmac, and then we all had to run up the stairs (did I mention it was raining and ALSO like 35 degrees out?) in the rain and jump on the plane.  

Snuggled in again...we took off for Paris.  

Here is what I will say.  For quite a small airport, and despite what that woman from the east coast thought, it was VERY well organized in Iceland.  They waited, they knew when the last guy got on the bus, and only then did we go.  Good job Icelanders.  Are they called Icelanders?