Interesting Cab Rides, an Airline Cluster Fuck, Puppy Chow and a Shemullet

What, you ask, do all of these things have to do with one another? I'll tell you--they were all part of my day before noon.

Per my usual travel habits, I hopped in a cab at 5:30 am headed for National airport. My cab driver immediately launched into a full blown diatribe on the socio-, economic, and political implications of the upcoming election. Never one to back away from republican-bashing, I jumped right in. But I had nothing on this guy. He was more knowledgeable (and outspoken) than most top political analysts. It was like watching the News Hour with Jim Lehrer, only in a car and in the early morning. Looking back, I should have requested his name for future trips so that I can monitor his feelings on the election. Overall--enjoyable for 5:30 am.

I got to the airport, checked in, made it through security, drank a cup of coffee, and boarded the plane without incident. (Shocking, right?) I sat down in my seat and immediately passed out. I awoke to the wheels touched down in Chicago. People were bustling around me, fighting for their belongings and bumping into each other. For a second the crowd parted, and that's when I saw it. Through my bleary eyes it shown like a magnificent grey waterfall. Feathered on top, at least a foot long, and silky smooth--the most fantastic mullet I've ever seen. Just then, it's cultivator turned around and to my shocked delight, it was a woman. Making it a SHEMULLET. I scrambled for my cell phone hoping that I could take a picture without being noticed, but just like that, the shemullet drifted off, hair flowing in the pumped-in-oxygen breeze. Gone from my life as quickly as it entered. Choosing not to dwell on the negative, I thanked my god that I had been lucky enough to see it and slunk off to my connecting gate.

At this point I witnessed one of the largest cluster fucks I have ever seen in an airport. The plane originally intended to carry me to Denver had a "belly ache" (united airlines personnel described it this way) and was not able to leave its hanger. We were shuffled to another gate where there was no plane waiting. Then, United personnel began calling people to the desk one at a time and giving them different boarding passes with different seat assignments. They would get about 5 people deep and then call all of the same people again, and then laugh and say "oh, we already took care of you." This went on for about 30 minutes. They explained that this was necessary because the plane was smaller and about 50 people wouldn't be given seats. About half way through the alphabet, a plane showed up and they began boarding us, completely abandoning the reassignment of seats. (Which, by the way, seemed to have no rhyme or reason and basically consisted of people being asked if they wanted more leg room). I got in line to board, hoping I was not one of the 50 unlucky passengers and was allowed on. As was everyone else it seemed. I'm sure somewhere there are 50 really pissed off people but it seemed like a first come first served situation. Very confusing.

Got to Denver only 40 minutes late and headed to the cab line. As my cab rolled toward me I jumped backward and let out a gasp. My cab was being driven by the crypt keeper. I considered running but she (yes, she) got out and was so sweet. I got in the cab and immediately noticed that she had a small village of plastic frogs, turtles, and alligators living on her dashboard. Some with bobble heads. This image warrants this blogs very first photo. So here it is for your viewing pleasure. You can't see it that well but it's the best I could do with a cell phone.

On our drive into Denver we passed the Purina puppy chow factory. The car immediately filled with the smell of puppy chow and I choked back vomit.

It's sunny and warm here and I'm actually happy to be in Denver. Weird.

Charlotte--wrap-up

When we left off, I had just arrived in Charlotte and already it had been an interesting trip. Now, days later at home, I'm not able to remember all of the ridiculous things that happened so I'll just name a few.

Focus group members are normally paid $60 for 4.5 hours. One focus group member in Charlotte got paid $60 for about 20 minutes. That's right, I paid him to leave. Why? drunk and disorderly. Moral of the story--go to work drunk, they'll pay you AND let you go home.

A participant came up to me on Saturday and said "I'd like to file a complaint". Being used to this I said "sure, what's wrong?" and he explained that he felt that it was wrong that we are serving Evian water at the program. I looked at him, puzzled, and asked him to elaborate. He explained that we are the AMERICAN Association for Justice and that serving french water is unpatriotic. My mouth dropped open as I tried to come up with an answer, ANY answer, other than, "are you fucking serious?" I regained my composure and explained that when we order soft drinks and water we do not get a choice re: brand. He felt that wasn't good enough and that I should negotiate American water into our contract. I wanted to ask him if he would be happier if we provided Dasani water, fueling money straight into the pockets of the Coke Co. big wigs but I decided to leave it alone and promised to mention that contract clause to our meetings manager.

The faculty, directed to buy me lunch on Saturday, brought me back an enormous turkey leg. I wouldn't know where to find a turkey leg if my life depended on it (outside of the Renaissance festival) but they are apparently quite common in Charlotte. You'd think the town would smell more like turkey and less like pancakes.

Side note: In addition to the program I staffed in Charlotte, we had two other programs running this weekend in Las Vegas. Upon returning to the office I'm told that a faculty member for one of those programs showed up 30 minutes late and drunk. Apparently, focus group members and lawyers have something in common.

Next Trip: Denver, September 24-28. More then.

Charlotte--Blog 1

My 0809 travel season has begun! That means that the blogs will be back in semi-full force (read: when I'm bored or have something ridiculous to report). Today qualifies on both fronts.

The program started off with me realizing I have forgotten the lesson that I thought I learned last year. I booked a flight leaving National at 7:15 am--getting me to Charlotte a whole 7 hours before I needed to be here. Last year I vowed not to book flights so early as it forces me to drag myself out of bed before the hour of 5 am (unholy). But what can you do, sometimes people in early flight recovery have slips. This was mine.

I got in my cab at 6 am and started down Connecticut Ave without incident. Even before hitting Woodley Park the cab had to pull over to re-shut the trunk which had popped open and was bouncing wildly in the wind. The cab driver closed the trunk and we proceeded. I sat in the cab, answering e-mails and making a mental to-do list until I heard the most outrageous racket coming from the car. And then what smelled like burning rubber. I looked up to find that we were on the GW parkway, doing about 45 MPH and the driver said "hmm, I've got a flat tire. Don't worry, we'll make it there." This sounded suspect to me but you should never question a professional, so I went back to my e-mails and tried to ignore the smell/sound. We went for maybe a mile and then the ride began to resemble what I can only imagine a wagon ride felt like on the Oregon Trail....except with more burning rubber smell and lite '80s classics sound. The cab driver pulled over and told me "don't worry, I'm really good at changing tires, this should only take a second." He gets out of the car, opens the trunk and begins jacking up the car. All the while, cars are whizzing by, honking their horns and I am alternately worrying that a.) he'll be hit by one of these speed racers, and b.) I might miss my flight. Luckily, less than 10 minutes later, he is back in the car and we are on our way. I tipped him well -- after all, he could have died changing that tire.

Other notes (not as interesting):

1.) When I got to the airport and went to check in they told me that USAir now charges $17 dollars per checked bag. What the shit is that? I'm pretty sure ticket prices are high enough to cover the cost of putting my tiny bag in the large open space in the bowels of the plane. I can understand charging a fee if it was unusual to travel with luggage, but I'm pretty sure it's not. If I wanted to travel with a dog, or a snowboard, or even a small bird (yeah right! a.) that would never happen, and b.) it should fly there on it's own if it wants to go) then I could see a fee. But just my regular bag? It's total crap.

2.) Charlotte smells like pancakes. The whole town.

3.) My cab driver in Charlotte was driving 52 miles a hour in downtown traffic. I know they like NASCAR down here but seriously?!?

Respect Your Elders!

It's important to respect your elders and so, at Dad's insistence, I am writing a blog about the Philadelphia convention (post-convention, which is sort of cheating but come on, there is no time at convention to write about convention)

Annual convention is a beast -- up at 5 am, in bed not much earlier than that. If that's not enough, it lasts FOREVER. About half way through, I was asked for my ID, pulled it out and thought "Washington, DC, huh, I wonder what that place looks like" After 8 days, I had never been so happy to see my flop-house of a home as when I got back yesterday afternoon.

In keeping with the theme of this blog, I'll share some elder moments from convention with you. And let's be clear, they're all elder moments at convention as I am always one of the youngest people within 500 feet of any AAJ event.

1) The gropings abounded this convention -- my favorite, as always, was from a really old member (who shall remain nameless) who likes to hug me every morning and give me sloppy kisses on the cheek. He's sweet but I wish there was less saliva involved.

2) Went to a fancy dinner at the only 5 star restaurant in Philly, it was delicious but every time any amount of food, sauce, crumb, etc. touched the rim of a plate, the waiters would come over and wipe the plate. Hilarious, but slightly distracting while you're trying to eat.

3) Old people either never knew how to read or have since forgotten. You would think an 8 foot sign that says "Membership Luncheon -- Grand Salon H" would indicate that the membership luncheon is in Grand Salon H. It doesn't. Instead, about 1000 of them said to me, as I sat next to the sign, "Hey, do you know what room the Membership Luncheon is in?" I think next year we should provide reading glasses as our convention giveaway. I'll pitch that in the follow up meeting.

4) My CEO befriended me on facebook a few days before we left. At convention he asked me why I haven't accepted. As one of my elders, I had to. So if you post messages on my facebook page, please remember that my job depends on what you say and post appropriately.

5) It's so cute when old people dance.

Rock on elders, rock on.

Fort Lauderdale--Trashy or Trashtastic--You decide

I arrived in Fort lauderdale expecting to find a harley davidson, girls gone wild, chain restaurant wonderland with few redeemable qualities. And for the most part, I was not wrong. What I was wrong about was thinking that I wouldn't like it. I don't think I'll be wearing a thong bikini and rollerblading anytime soon but I will go so far as to say "I am enjoying my time here in Ft. Lauderdale."

Below is a list of trashy and not-so trashy things about Fort Lauderdale. Loyal readers, you decide, is this place trashy or is it not? Have I been too hard on Fort Lauderdale? Do I have a trashy side? I'd love to hear what you think.

a.) Point for trashy: Planes fly by the beach advertising Bahama's Booze cruise every 30 minutes.

b.) Counterpoint: The hotel I'm staying in has a Butler. He'll bring me whatever I want. His name is Ross.

c.) Point: Counted at least 7 girls with thong bikinis on standing in the water across the street from the hotel

d.) Counterpoint: Went to dinner at an awesome place last night, possibly some of the best food ever. Amazing guacamole. Bill for dinner $1500. High prices are never trashy.

e.) Point: There is a hooters next door to the hotel.

f.) Counterpoint: The hotel offered to drive me places in a Bentley.

g.) Point: At Howl at the Moon, the dueling piano bar we went to last night, two sets of girls got up on stage and made out with eachother for free buttons advertising the bar.

h.) Counterpoint: The beach across the street is one of the nicest, most well cared-for beach I've ever seen.

e.) Point: Storefront after storefront offering Henna tatoos.

f.) Counterpoint: I'm getting one.

So fair readers, decide for yourselves. Trashy or not trashy? I don't have time to think about this anymore, I have to head down the street for my syringe of jello shot covered in whipped cream.

Southern Hospitality in Coldlanta.

Here I am in Hotlanta--which is freezing cold, by the way--and I am just begining to understand the difference between northerners and southerners. The difference is southern hospitality. People in the south feel that everyone should take an interest in each other, that everyone should be polite, courteous, and talkative. As a yankee, I find this very annoying. I've realized that I don't want to tell strangers how my day is going and I for sure don't want to have to feign interest in their lives.

Yesterday, the hotel was inundated with the National Foster Parents Association and I stupidly assumed that they were talkative and engaged because they are incredibly giving people who have to spend most of their time with misguided little shits.

This morning I woke up, thankful that the replacement parents are gone and expected to have a calm day with less invasive questioning by people I've never met and will never see again. But, it turns out, it wasn't the foster parent-ness in them, it was the southern-ness. Southern people apparently feel that they are entitled to command your attention and ask for personal details about your life whenever they feel like it. I reconciled myself to the fact that I was going to have to answer questions about my hair, my clothes, my family, my job, my personal life, and my political and religious views. I was salty about it but when in Rome....

Then things took a turn--a lady was passing, stopped and told me how my job is "the life" because I get to sit here all day. And then tickled my shoeless foot!!!

This goes behind the hokie friendliness of the south. I don't care if you are from below the mason-dixon, the deep south, or the south pole, it is never appropriate to touch a strangers foot after you've basically told them that a monkey can do their job. Even if a monkey could do my job, I'm sure the monkey would also take offense at being tickled by a stranger.

Now, I realize that this southern hospitality is considered a good thing about the south--like sweet tea and relaxed sobriety laws--but I am taking a hard stand against it. Therefore, I'm issuing this warning to the south: Stop talking to, touching, laughing at, smiling at, and especially tickling me. I'm a yankee, and god only knows when I might strike back. You're just lucky I'm not a monkey--They throw poo.

To Blog or Not to Blog

I've decided, after a lot of thought, to start a blog. Never mind that I have no idea what the word "blog" means. All I know is that this will be a way for me to keep people informed as to my whereabouts without actually having to speak to them. Hooray Me!

Those of you reading this (I'm guessing just Guido -- it's so nice that you care, Guid) seem truly dedicated to me, and I am most appreciative.

Now, on to the subject of my blog. In the coming months I will be traveling ALOT. To where you ask?? I'll tell you. Exciting places like Cleveland and Memphis. And sometimes when I go to these exciting places, exciting things happen. The purpose of this blog is for me to be able to tell you about them all at once instead of calling you all individually! Isn't that great! I leave for San Diego on the morning of Wednesday, September 13th. If anything interesting happens, I'll let you know. I'm guessing the next trip (Memphis) will be the blogworthy one, but we have to start somewhere!

17 hours of theft, intrigue and sleuthing

I’m going to tell you a completely hypothetical story. I’m not saying that this did or didn’t happen in the last 24 hours (I wouldn’t want to negatively impact pending litigation) but it’s a good story.

So….let’s say I’m away on a trip for work in a city in the south….maybe for instance New Orleans…

And let’s say after a very trying day of missing materials and hotel inconveniences, I was very much looking forward to a nice relaxing dinner and several stiff drinks. As I packed up my stuff and went to secure breakout rooms, all I could think of was how much my feet hurt and how happy I was to be dropping my bag off in my room. As I rode the elevator up to my floor, my phone rang and I could hear a panicked faculty member through static. Though I didn’t know what he was saying, I was sure something was wrong. I dropped off my bag and headed back to our program room where I was immediately informed that my faculty member’s (whose name might be Mr. T) laptop was taken. My mouth hung open in disbelief and we called security. The security guard came and questioned us for about 20 minutes. Although he seemed to partially grasp the situation, I was concerned. Mr. T was FLIPPING out because of the confidential nature of the files on the computer. The security guards fumbled around some and then called me into the back of the house. I directed them re: which camera angles to look at and what time to check and finally, eureka, we found a two minute period where a young man walked into the room and then walked out with Mr. T only paces behind him. From the footage it seemed that Mr. T might have been a witness to the theft of his very own computer! (crazy, right?) and so I went and got him and brought him to the pill-box of a security office. As we pieced the tape together, watching all the angles, it showed Theodore Thief going up in the elevator. I requested that the security officers continue piecing together events and let us know what floor he got off on. As I headed out to dinner, a despondent Mr. T slunk off to his room.

I got to the restaurant, gave the rest of the faculty an update and ate my dinner. Spent not enough time on Bourbon Street and then turned in, silently praying for the return of the computer before I drifted off.

I sprang from my bed startled by the phone at 5:38 am. I answered groggily and a response came “The game is afoot” said a manic Mr. T. “I’ve spoken to security and the bastard got off on 4. I’m staking out the elevator. Can you bring me coffee? Oh, and am I supposed to present today?” I informed Mr. T, still not totally sure what the hell he was talking about, that yes, in fact, he was presenting twice today, and that I’d have coffee to him asap. I stepped off the elevator on 4, after having quickly gotten ready and brewed coffee in my in-room machine, to Mr. T, cross-legged on the floor, staring at the hallway. I gave him his coffee and asked if there was anything else I could do. As I left, I felt bad leaving him, looking so sad on the floor of an elevator bank.

I went downstairs and demanded an update from security. “we’re working on it” was the only response I got. Hours passed, me making futile inquires, them providing inadequate responses until my course advisors got involved. They demanded to see managers, they threatened action, and the wheels started turning. They were able, in a way I wasn’t due to hotel relations, to scare the shit out of management. As I walked to the front desk for an update, I spotted a young guy, unsavory looking, around the same physical description as Theodore Thief. He was headed to the elevator. I quickly spun on my heels and whisper-screamed to a faculty member passing by (You may remember this faculty member, Biff, from a previous blog), “Biff, I think that’s the guy!!!!”

In a flash, Biff vaulted toward the elevator, with no thought to his own personal safety, no regard for his own life or limb, and squeezed through the closing doors. I said a silent prayer that I hadn’t just sent him off to a terrible fate, and ran to find the security guy.

Biff returned with the information that the suspect had gone into one of a few rooms and provided room numbers. He also did an amusing reenactment of himself trying to act casual in the elevator, and lost once exited from the elevator.

Security took the information Biff provided and did…..well, basically nothing with it. Finally, I spoke to the general manager of the hotel and explained that if they could just get a print of the security tape that we could show Biff, he would be able to confirm whether or not it was him. The GM instead sent housekeeping staff to do a “spot check” of the rooms in question.

All of a sudden a flurry began. They asked for a description of the computer, and where Mr. T was right now.

The skankiest looking coke whore I’ve ever seen was then escorted off the elevator by one of the security guards. (we’ll call him Xavier.) They walked out of the hotel and moments later, back in with a laptop. My heart leapt. I had to figure out how not to get Mr. T too excited before I knew more. This turned out not to be possible as he needed to identify said laptop. I pulled him from his breakout room and told him the news. We were escorted to the 2nd floor where police and hotel security waited. They presented us with a laptop and asked us to verify that it was Mr. T’s. It was, and we exclaimed our joy! Mr. T declined to file charges and they led the most ragged, broke-ass people I’ve every seen from the room and out of the hotel.

It turns out, the guy I picked out in the lobby was not the guy who stole the laptop, but a friend of his. Had it not been for a little intelligent thought, some good timing, and a LOT of luck, this could be a very depressing, very HYPOTHETICAL story. But alas, tonight we will celebrate our HYPOTHETICAL victory over our HYPOTHETICAL villain, with very REAL alcoholic slushies!! Hooray, alcoholic shlushies.

On the Road Again—Is the airline industry just fucking with America?—I’m befuddled.

After a two month break in work travel, I’m off to the Crescent city for what I can only anticipate will be long days and even longer nights. Those of you who read my blog religiously, (guid, you still reading?), know that New Orleans is one of my favorites. So it was with utter joy that I sprang from bed this morning at 5:45, showered, and headed out to my taxi.

Had the most enjoyable cab ride ever on my way to National. Normally, I cannot stand it when cab drivers want to chat, but this guy (we’ll call him Norman) was awesome. 75 years old (looked 50), 6 kids and a wife. Told me all about his cop-daughter who locked up her boyfriend for lighting her on fire, and get this, locked up her own brother (cab driver’s son) for stealing all her stuff. (she sounds tough) You should have seen him beaming with pride.

Enough about Norman, on to the subject of this blog. I’m becoming increasingly concerned about the stupidity of the common American and the airline industry’s attempts to deceive us.

When you board a plane, the head flight attendant, during his or her schpeal, tells you that “the use of cell phones is not permitted when the doors are closed because your cell phone might interfere with the proper operation of the plane.” How in GOD’S NAME can that be true? I’m no aeronautics expert, but I’m pretty sure that aircrafts work on a VERY sophisticated system, like sonar for the air (or radar, if you like). My point being, how can a cell phone possibly interfere with the aircraft’s operation? Do cell phones show up as tiny blips on radar causing air traffic controllers to think that 250 planes are crashing miles above them? Do they make planes invisible on radar threatening to cause collisions that no one could predict? I don’t think so.

What I do think is that the airline industry does not want two hundred and fifty self-important and bored people yakking away for two and half hours inside a tiny metal tube. And I don’t blame them. I fully support the no cell phones on planes idea. I don’t want to hear some suburban housewife, off for a jaunt with her college friends, cooing into the phone at a bratty two year-old who won’t take a nap without mommy singing the spider song. Or some ridiculous, over-paid financial analyst barking away at his petrified assistant about this quarter’s declining numbers and how he was supposed to have that report 48 hours ago, and how if she knew what were good for her, she’d pick up the phone, and call down to accounting and find out where the fuck it is.

No, this would be just as irritating to me as it would be to everyone else to hear me whining about some inane makeup or shoe disaster I might be having (ex. “Libbbbbbyy, I can’t believe I forgot my tan peep-toes, now I’m going to have to wear my tan closed toed shoes. What WILL I do???”) No, it’s definitely better that I am not allowed to talk on the phone during air travel.

My question though is, why do they have to lie to us and make it about imminent danger? Why don’t they just say “no cell phones because with those hunks of plastic stuck to your heads you all become instant assholes and we don’t want to spend this flight daydreaming about pouring burning hot coffee in your laps on purpose”? I’d be totally cool with that. Wouldn’t you? The motion picture industry tells you to turn off your cell so as not to irritate others, why can’t the airline?

I get it though, fear is the number one motivator, and they use it because they don’t want the slippery slope of cell phone use to start so they scare us with what is clearly a bold faced lie. Airline industry: 1, America: 0.

The other bone I have to pick with airlines is this “your window shade must be up during takeoff and landing for your safety.” WHAT THE FUCK? Does the pilot have some weird rearview mirror that allows him to look out the incredibly tiny windows in each row to maneuver the plane down the runway? That doesn’t seem plausible. With the shade closed, will we all get disoriented and have psychotic breaks when we are airborne after previously being grounded. I’m guessing if that happens to you, you may have had some pretty big personal safety concerns before boarding the plane. This window shade rule completely befuddles me. Any answers you could give would really straighten some things out for me. I’m guessing this one isn’t even for a good reason—just another way for the man to control us. Airline industry: 2, America: Still 0.

For now, I have to shut down all “electronic devices” and lift up my window shade….we’re landing in the Big Easy….I’ll write more after 6-10 alcoholic slushies (YAY!)