I’m coping with the usual post-Cannes, L.A.-blues syndrome. I missed last night’s 7:30 pm JFK flight, took a 9:40 pm flight instead. Two compassionate Jet Blue reps took pity and didn’t charge me a penalty. Tennessee Williams and the kindness of strangers.

Missing the 7:30 flight was 35% my fault, 65% the MTA’s.

I was underneath Penn Station on the A and D train platform. An A train with signs that said “JFK” and “Howard Beach” pulled in. It didn’t seem to be going southbound, but I was just fatigued enough to question my own sense of direction. (MTA subway-stop signage doesn’t always clarify which way trains are heading.) I asked a sharp-looking 20something woman, “Excuse me but is this train going to JFK?” Yes, she said. “Really?”

It didn’t seem right but I got on regardless. How could it not be JFK-bound with that signage?

Fake-out! It was a northbound train, headed for Harlem. How could the MTA do this? What kind of fiendish, diabolical minds, etc.? I lost about 15 or 17 minutes, all in. Call it 20. The result was that when I finally got to JFK, I missed the plane by a nosehair.