One wniter evening 'bout 30 years ago, a bunch of us were consoling one another in a concourse bar at New York's JFK airport, lamenting the fact we were stuck there due to abysmal weather just about everywhere west of Hoboken. A consensus was formed that the next flight to damned near anywhere was preferable to sitting there. A day and a half later, each of us a few hundred bucks lighter, but sober, we returned to JFK from Amsterdam. The weather had improved, though, and we all went our individual ways to where we'd rather have been that stupid, dark, stormy, drunken, ridiculously expensive evening.
Footnote: If something seems like a reasonable idea when you're drunk, it probably isn't