Taxicab situation

Update! The stickers in DC taxicabs have been fixed. I for one am glad the situation has been corrected and I thank Mayor Fenty for his attention to this matter. DC cabs are safe and informative to ride in once again!

A Plague Upon our House

Dear Mayor Fenty,

I'm writing to alert you to an alarming problem which I became aware of yesterday. I was traveling from National Airport to my home in upper Northwest in a lovely DC taxicab. As the sun was setting over the district, I glanced at the fees chart plastered to the window only to find a horrible misprint. Much to my shock and dismay, this document--which appeared to be produced by the DC government--calls the district "the District on Columbia." (picture attached.) How are we expected to ask the federal government, our citizens, and citizens of this fine nation to give our city the respect and power it deserves when we are unable to correctly identify ourselves in a document which will be displayed and consulted by hundreds, if not thousands of tourists.

I, for one, blame Leon J. Swain, Jr., chairperson of the DC taxicab commission, who lent his name to the document.

By way of this letter, I ask you to fix the problem immediately and have a talk with Mr. Swain re: his proofreading skills.

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Molly Laurence, concerned citizen

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.