Tag: story

Preparing For The New

Little stories like the woman who just walked to the front of the plane to use the toilet. She walks up and stands there looking completely bewildered. For a good 30 seconds she stood there, looking… obviously perplexed and a bit confused, until the flight attendant pointed out the door to the toilet to her. Ok, there are four doors where she is standing. One says “Flight Deck Door – authorized personnel only,” two doors have little windows where you can see the sky out of them, and one door has a green sign that says “VACANT.”

Why was this so confusing?

Thoughts Are Things

Originally written October 10, 2006.  Early on in my frequent travels, this is a quick look at a tired mind and the frustrations of air travel, and dealing with the public in general. How I processed thoughts as I did my best to deal with my own human condition, my needs and my lack of getting the things I needed: sleep, meals, contact with people that I could build bonds with.

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I hate listening to other people’s conversations on phones.

If there is any one thing that annoys me the most about having to wait in public places it’s listening to other people talk on their cell phones. It almost seems like incessant banter – trite and meaningless. And it surrounds me… someone behind me, some one next to me, and the person in front of me. I just so much want silence.

Really what I want right now is sleep. Flight is in 20 minutes. I have to stay awake at least until then. No, ugh, I have an aisle seat so I’ll have to stay awake at least until the person sitting next to me gets in their seat. That’s going to add another 20 minutes, most likely.

I realize it might not take that long, but that’s the way things go for me.

Here is my luck. And it never fails, week after week. What I get more than not; the person sitting next to me doesn’t get on the plane until I’ve already been sitting there for 15 minutes. The person sitting next to me is, in most cases, an over-weight, elderly person. Like the guy sitting next to me here at the gate… there’s a good chance he’s sitting next to me on the plane, judging by his hacking, pneumonia sounding cough and the fact he weighs no less than 300 pounds.

This is the game I play out of boredom: Pick the Person Sitting Next to Me.

I assign odds on the different people at the gate. Coughing fat guy is getting 2:1 odds. The really old guy with the cane and dirty baseball hat, I’ll give him 3:1… yeah, he’s a close runner-up.

The attractive woman with size 38-D breasts and cute braids that make her look like the Riccola girl… 10,000:1 odds. Virtually no chance she’ll be sitting next to me – I’m surprised she’s even waiting at the same gate.

Lou Dobbs annoys me too. This guy is on TV? He can barely spit out a sentence without pausing 60 times. And who made this brilliant f@&#ing decision that CNN should be on TV at every airport in America anyway? Why CNN? Why not, say, a TV station that actually reports news? Do we need Wolf Blitzer on TV everywhere? Really?

Past boarding time. Why do they bother putting a boarding time on the ticket? And 30 minutes before takeoff? It’s never happened. Not once. Can we have some honesty here? “We’d like to get everyone starting to board 30 minutes before, but the idiots who can’t carry luggage and walk at the same time will still be trying to get off the plane 10 minutes before your takeoff. And forget about getting everyone on the plane in less than 30 minutes time, because there are just as many idiots getting back on. Be at the gate 10 minutes before your takeoff, just to be safe.”

Mr. 2:1 has already gotten up to go stand in line to get on the plane. He’s being very impatient, like standing in the concourse looking at his watch every few seconds will get everyone on the plane quicker. They haven’t even called for pre-boarding yet. People, sit down and relax.

I can barely keep my eyes open at this point. This week has just sucked the life out of me. Maybe it has something to do with the woman in the sweater that looks like… oh, what was that gum from back in the late ‘70s –early ‘80s? Multi-fruit flavor, came in the stripped wrapper… her sweater looks like that wrapper.

Hideous.

They’re going to start boarding. Of course, they board by zones but there are now no less than 50 people standing directly in front of the door. They haven’t even called zone 1 yet. Idiots. IDIOTS.

So here’s the problem: they stand there looking like they’re in line, so people get in “line” behind them, but then they don’t MOVE because it’s not their zone. Then people can’t get through so the gate agent thinks everyone who wants to get on the plane has, calls the next zones – then bottleneck, and we’re all slowed down.

On the plane now, and 2:1 was sitting the seat directly in front of me, so I was wrong. Nice young kid – heading home from Ft. Campbell for the weekend sat next to me. Quiet, I slept well on that flight and he was pleasant to talk to while we waited for a gate to open up.

Now waiting for my next flight. I think I’ve already found my new 2:1. Elderly couple sitting across from me, have to be in their 70s, if not older. They look about as happy as starved pit bulls in a cage. I have a first class seat on this one though, so definitely a reprieve.

No, I don’t always get first class seats. If they upgrade me, fine, but I’m not paying extra for it. A $500 difference just so I can drink? Regardless if I’m paying for it or not, I can’t drink THAT much in an hour.

It’s nighttime coming home now. The winter landscape looks like a great mirror on the ground below. Each light reflecting; appearing larger than it should. The light and shadows of house windows make the ground look like it has windows of its own, even from this high up. Going on midnight, my week is finally ending… at least, this stage of it.

New week, new adventures. A quick stop through the Carolinas and then off to Kentucky again. I should have honorary residence in Kentucky – I think I’ve spent more time there than at home in the past 4 months.

Flying into Nashville to make the hour drive to Bowling Green. As an added bonus, a late request to make a side trip to Elizabethtown; another hour north of Bowling Green.

Excitement abounds. Ok, no it doesn’t. The entire population of Bowling Green wouldn’t fill a professional football stadium. Elizabethtown is even smaller. And not a whole heck of a lot to do in either place, not that I had time to do anything besides work, drive, work, fly… typical week. At least the local vendor team down here is nice. Awesome, really. We have a lot of fun going out and unwinding from the work day.

The other nice part of the trip is Avis giving me a brand new Mustang. Ok, it’s a Ford… but as far as crappy rental cars go, there are much, MUCH worse cars. At least these are set up to rip the tires loose with the slightest depression of the accelerator. I made it a goal to return it with bald tires. I gave the wheel-wells a rubber-chunk undercoating but no dice. The tires were too new to show any significant wear.

Ok, so this guy getting on the morning flight is wearing these… plaid, I guess, pants… with no less than 1.5 million colors on them, with a striped shirt and tan corduroy jacket. I’m all for individual fashion statements, but it looks like he got dressed in the dark and did it all by feel.

That’s ok, morning bloody mary’s always make the flight, and the people around me more tolerable.

If I happen to make it home today, I have next week to look forward to. Looks like everything that is actually scheduled is being canceled, so I ponder what surprises might be in store….

Four Days

It has been a long time since I have randomly traveled to a town this small.

Clinton, South Carolina. Population as of the 2011 Census: 8,489. One of those sleepy little towns nestled right next to the over-sized buckle of the Bible-Belt. Neighboring Clinton is Laurens, with a population of 9,134, yet Laurens feels much larger than Clinton in a number of ways.

Laurens reminds me more of Menomonee, at least on the busier town edges. With major state highways intersecting the town lending to more development, there is a Wal-Mart, a textile production facility, a wider array of restaurants, bars, cafés, shops and other indicators of commerce and an active populace. I am writing this from a table in Clock of Laurens; a larger restaurant which reminds me very much of the Green Mill in Menomonee that I visited a number of times. Clock is one of the only places open on a Sunday that also has free WiFi. In a religion dominated area such as this, finding anything open on a Sunday is rare, and even more so before noon.

Clock has been full of people today. About a 50/50 mix of whites and minorities, and many in their Sunday best. A table of three older black women is next to me, all wearing their white Sunday suits, looking radiant and enjoying their brunch coffee. Others dress nicely, to the point where you know they are returning from Sunday services, but not so much that it is a fancy thing for them.

My host on this trip took me for a driving tour this morning. We drove through the town square of Laurens and around the surrounding hills of the community. It is a cold morning; only about 5-celsius and raining. This is not my optimal hiking and photographing weather on this trip, but I will get to it. This was more of a find something interesting to investigate and photograph on another day kind of tour.

Laurens has its small-town charms. A town square that reminds me of Marietta, but instead of a park the center square features a grandiose, classic courthouse building. The square is surrounded by small shops and restaurants and the edges of the square are peppered with churches of varying Christian denominations, sometimes sharing property borders and multiple churches on the same block.

A waitress turns the corner carrying a large tray, stacked high with fried foods; onion rings and French fries and an assortment of sandwiches. I have yet to see a co-op or organic food store. I have yet to see a single sign of promoting healthier lifestyles in this area. There are fast-food restaurants up and down every major road, and they thrive.

I had Sonic for the first time last night. My host told me I need to try it, since in all my time traveling I never had tried a Sonic burger. I went all out – a double cheeseburger and sweet potato tots.

As I dined, I commented that I could feel the years of my life just falling away. I think back to conversations I’ve had and heard in the past, where people rave about Sonic and how good the food is. The pools of grease in the bottom of the tot-cup and the wadded up, processed burger in a foil envelope would have me arguing against that. Quality doesn’t come pre-packaged or from a deep fryer.

Our tour of the outskirts of Laurens left me with the distinct impression that this is an area that time has forgotten. Scattered broken down homes, mobile homes, farms and warehouses mixed together in a rural countryside that is more scrub brush and wooded than populated or tended to. Rusted out, collapsing trailers sitting on blocks next to lived-in but similarly breaking down mobile units; some with an array of outdoor children’s toys that even middle-class families might look at and think unnecessary given their cost.

Conversing with my host as we drove around I inquired as to how much housing costs in this area. She told me that most of the actual houses we were driving past would probably be between $30,000 and $40,000. The higher-end homes with big porches, pillars and fancy gardens, perhaps $100,000 or a bit more. She said that her and her husband were looking at a nice house that was only $40,000 as opposed to a more fixer-upper house they had originally looked at for $20,000. The disparity of the housing market in America, I guess. These higher-end homes are aged but in many cases very well kept, and beautiful. A similar house in an area such as East Aurora or Hamburg would easily fetch $200,000, or more.

But with the landscape of decomposing structures, I was fascinated. So many places I could see doing a little photography. Perhaps I could catch sunbeams shinning through a hole in the roof using a slow shutter speed, or finding the texture of a moss growing on abandoned furniture, with water from the rainfall dripping on it. Our goal was to find somewhere to eat with WiFi and somewhere I could catch up on everything I had missed over the last 36-hours though, so trespassing into abandoned structures wasn’t on the immediate agenda.

This is what brought us to Clock. Calling around to local cafés and other restaurants yielded a very limited selection of options. Very limited. Clock was it if I wanted some internet access.

The meal was decent and pretty typical of a restaurant that aims to serve a broad base of clients well over the course of a day, rather than focusing on a specific or specialized culture, style or service. After spending a couple hours loitering and drinking weak, flavorless coffee we headed back out toward Clinton where the cold and the rain were sure to thwart most of our best intentions for doing something photographic this day.

Day two stared with high winds, cold temperatures and a lot of sun, but this should play fairly well into getting some photography in.

As the day progressed the winds would not subside. The rain and cold of the day before has been replaced by sunshine, but winds gusting near 40-mph, and the temperatures did not rise above 5-celsius. The wind chill burned cold on what would otherwise be a pleasant day.

After a late breakfast in a small café on the square named Steamers, we took a walk around the town square of Clinton. Again, a place lost in time. The small, conjoined brick buildings are a throw-back to an older time. Awnings and metal signs rattled in the high winds. Flags by the square memorial snapped loudly as they whipped around their pole. We walked toward the rail depot and mill, quickly losing the sidewalks and traversing busy train tracks in favor of loose stone paths.

We are greeted almost hourly by train whistles in town. Freight trains come through town frequently, day and night, and the town is surrounded by rail lines.

The depot area is a line of small, brightly colored buildings, which are now anything but rail depot businesses. A small gym, the first sign I’ve noticed that there is the promotion of healthier lifestyles, but the building itself is no bigger than a mid-sized house. Most of the buildings stand vacant. Broken porch decks and broken or bricked up windows that are painted white to mimic the shape of the windows which are still in place in other buildings are the most defining features of this row. Old tires lay outside one shop, while an old oxygen canister leans against the wall of another. It is Monday late morning, and we are the only signs of life just three blocks from the center of town.

Hand numbing temperatures in the wind caused us to have to return to warmer surroundings.

In the evening as the winds settled a bit, we drove back to Laurens for a similar walk, but through Laurens Park and behind the cemetery where we explored the girders of an old, but active railroad bridge. Graffiti is carved here in the rust of the bridge metal, and the bridge spans a small creek which was now a bit swollen and moving fast due to the recent rain.

Further along, up in the town square, we took some time to enjoy the spring flowers; some in full blossom and some still yawning toward rebirth. We walked around the courthouse and toward the old Echo Theater which had been until recently a “Redneck Shop” and a Klu Klux Klan museum; an interesting celebration of this darker side of the history of the region.

Touring these towns, even on foot, takes mere minutes. The squares are only about the size of a couple city blocks. Most of the buildings are government buildings like the courthouse, or the city hall. Or they’re tax preparers, lawyers, banks, photographers and a private loan specialist. The interesting shops and cafés were mostly closed at 7:00PM when we got there.

On our way home, we stopped and investigated a burned out house on the side of the rail way. The charred remains of what was once a humble home. The furnishings and trappings of family life still exist in what is otherwise a building destroyed. I took some photos of what I could, making use of the natural light streaming in from the missing roof, the broken windows and the fractured walls. A red chair still sits positioned in front of a window providing an eerie reminder that people once enjoyed sitting here and reading or perhaps just watching the trains go by not thirty feet from the house.

Each step in the structure was met with the crunch of broken glassware, charred wood and a number of other items strewn about the floor. I was cautious with every step, making sure there weren’t holes in the floor beneath the rubble as I moved from room to room in this tiny old dwelling.

As the sunlight retreated, it was time to head back to Clinton.

Day three; my last day here. The sun was shinning more brightly than even the day before, but it was no warmer. However, the day did start without the whistling of high winds so I was hopeful it would have been a better day to tour the region.

We started with breakfast at Steamers again. They do omellettes right. Big, full of good stuff and filling. It kept me going all day. The coffee is lacking. The service is very attentive though.

Today we visited Joanna, South Carolina in search of abandoned buildings for decent photo opportunities. As with many of the small towns in this area, Joanna is also a town lost in time. An even smaller and more desolate town square is surrounded by rural communities and subdivisions once owned by industry. Derelict structures dominate the town, both industrial and residential. The streets around the old mill are lined with houses that used to be owned by the mill and furnished for the mill workers to live in. Larger, two-level houses for the supervisors and smaller one-level houses for the working staff of the mill remind us again of a time long past. Now privately owned, these communities show the wear and tear of time. Many of the houses are brick, but the non-brick parts – roofs, porches, doors and windows – show the ravages of time, weather and the lack of resources required to keep up with how the Earth recycles everything we make.

Communities such as this were undoubtedly once thriving centers of industry and logistics. Surrounded by railroads in a time when this was the most common and affordable method of transportation, each town was a stop, a pick-up, a place for the rail workers to pause their day. The mill sat beside the rail depot; another stop where the goods created here could be purchased, loaded and transported in trade to other places.

Long gone are those days and with them, these towns have all but been forgotten.

We stopped at an old school building which had been abandoned for years. The broken windows, plywood shuttered doors, and chained entrances show the proof of neglect. In the back, public lavatories for the nearby park are filled with trash, graffiti, broken walls and plumbing. On the other side, a wide opening where a large classroom window once existed, now invites trespassers. Rusted light fixtures dangle from broken ceilings; a dividing wall crumbles beside an intact chalkboard that spans at least twenty feet of wall.

On the other side of the building, signs of progress exist. Much of the building is now remodeled and being used for offices of charitable organizations. A large solar panel grid sits atop the roof, and seems out of place given the condition of the building beneath it. A quick tour of the interior of the building shows the amount of care and effort being put back into this structure. There is a small library, classrooms for GED preparation courses, religious services and a food pantry to help those in need. A broken window above a door on the interior partially reveals a room in disrepair where light from the outside can be seen through broken walls and roofing, and the breeze can be felt blowing in from the window to the remodeled hallway. A sign on the door reads, “The Future Home of Information Technology Services.”

It is time out of time.

Highway 56, connecting Joanna and Clinton shows a different side of the story. Large, beautiful houses, well maintained yards, sprawling lawns, hedgerows and paved, smooth driveways dominate the roadside landscape. Metal roofs shine in the sunlight; distant pastures with livestock and large, home-worthy barns replace the broken down and decaying structures of the town. Here you can see the disparity but vitality of the area and realize not all has been lost or forfeited as time has marched on.

The rest of the day was spent relaxing, getting ready for the trip to wind up and my flight time to head home. Back on the road, with some adventures in hand. It isn’t like the old days, but this was a step in the right direction. A step closer to happiness, in many ways, and a step back on the road to being productive, successful and as energetic as I once was.

As my flight climbs from Charlotte and rises above the layer of clouds, I can see the shadow of the plane cast by the bright, almost full moonlight. These images are reminders to me that no matter how difficult things might be, I can rise above and leave my mark on the world I will someday leave behind.

There is opportunity in these small, rural communities. Places do come and go – business and entrepreneurship alike, as has happened in many areas of the nation in these changing and often troubled times. The one thing that can be said; no matter how lost in time these towns may be, the people that live there haven’t given up on their communities. The outward appearance might not always be pretty, but there is a sense of survival, of belonging and even a sense of pride. There is the personality and charm you would expect from the southern culture. There is the faith. So much faith. They’re nestled next to the buckle of the Bible-Belt, but their faith goes deeper than the churches on every block and the constant, outward reminders of their religion. There is the faith that if they keep on going, and keep on doing what they’re doing, eventually everything is going to turn out alright.

A Bauble

bau·ble noun \ˈbȯ-bəl, ˈbä-\
1: trinket
2: a fool's scepter
3: something of trifling appeal

This was my bauble, five years ago. March 25, 2008 is when I wrote this story. At the time, I felt like I was on top of the world. But that hope and promise, too, was just a bauble.

What is your bauble?

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It was an amazing day.

I might finally have my business on the precipice of substantial growth.

Doubling staff. Increasing revenues and profits. Providing much more than just-in-time services for local small businesses.

Or, not. Because these things always seem to blow up or just fall through.

Best I can do is to just keep working towards it.

Meetings today went well. Having over an hour of conversational time trapped in a car with the assistant manager of client services for our vendor helped. I’m poised to get off of the road full-time and doing more advanced technical work – while still being available for the occasional service call. More employees could be added to take my place – and again, the hint of my company working direct instead of as a sub-contractor.

That in itself would be awesome.

The stars must have aligned for me today. Even my flights went smooth. 5:40AM flight to O’Hare left on-time. Connecting flight to Milwaukee left on-time. Flight from O’Hare to Charlotte left on-time and arrived early despite high winds and delays at both airports.

One more flight to take. So far, on time.

But by the time I get there I’ll probably have enough alcohol in me to not care.

The flight between Chicago and Charlotte… left me with one surprise.

Perhaps, even a bauble, as my friend Dena would put it.

Mid-flight, I had just woken from a nap to start the trip. The attendant left me with a refill of Bacardi and I was sitting back enjoying a drink, the sun beating in the window from the west, and reading an article in the airline magazine… the clouds below seemed to be a perfectly smooth blanket of white. Not a ripple nor a disturbance. The flight was smooth as anyone could ask for….

…and then, a small bump. Turbulence. But not any shaking or vibrating or bouncing as what you would normally have with prolonged turbulence.

Just a small bump.

Barely noticeable, but I felt it.

And looking out the window to my right, I saw it. A small line of white extending far out to the west. As if the clouds reached up for a moment in time to touch the airplane.

But clouds? No, it couldn't be. It was a vapor trail. A contrail. Left by an airplane miles out on the distant horizon.

I could see it; its metallic hull glistened in the sunlight. From it streamed a line of white vapor, and we flew through it, perfectly in line.

As a ship passing through another ship’s wake in the open waters, and I wondered… does anyone else notice? Has anyone else seen this? Can anyone else extend their vision to capture the moment in time this other traveler passed through the same spot we were just in?

Am I the only one who would observe this today?

And what are the odds?

This is… life.

My plane banked as it began its decent towards the runway below. The banking, the force, again filled my mind with wonder as I used to think looking up at the planes in the sky when I was younger. As a child I had always dreamed of being, flying, experiencing this.

Now it’s common. Almost a daily occurrence.

And every so often… it still fills me with wonder.

It has been an amazing day.

Poetry In All Forms

From September 27, 2007

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...so, the waitress at the restaurant we were at tonight was an English lit major, and apparently hated her boss.

My colleagues and I kept trying to get her to recite poetry for us... so by the end of the night, she wrote this limerick...

There once was a douchebag named Chad
and I'm pretty sure he is a fag.
He has a small dick, and acts like a prick,
and when it comes to getting laid, he's bad.

Pretty good for off the cuff. I bought her a drink.

It's in green, because limericks always seem Irish to me...

 

 

Government Work

Work on the road wasn't always glamor and high-jinx. Often, jobs left something to be desired... but as was the case in every case, I was there to do the best job I could regardless of the circumstances.

This one was originally written February 25, 2008

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The drive goes by a lot faster when not done in a blizzard.

Although I got to sleep a little longer and still made it here on time, it was difficult to get up this morning. To leave where I was; the warmth of bed, the comfort… the sheer pleasure of it. And for what? To get in a car and drive 3 hours in the dark.

And arriving on time, I discover of the two people I need to meet up and work with, neither are here at 7 AM. One doesn’t even start until 8 AM, the other just hasn’t shown up yet.

At least the car has XM. Have to look at the positives.

Getting cars with XM is actually starting to change my mind on the whole “pay for radio” thing. I’m still not for it, but it does have its benefits.

This is just the start of what undoubtedly will be a long week. Two days in a VA hospital in Cleveland, then two more days at a VA hospital in Indianapolis. Driving the whole way.

The hospital is your typical, sterile looking, no-frills type environment. Usually what you find at VA’s. Most of the workers are young and patients very old. There is no wireless network here, at all. Almost unheard of for a hospital these days. The cafeteria sells Folgers coffee… the highest selling, yet lowest rated coffee brand in America. Go figure.

I stretch and yawn off more of the sleep I didn’t get last night. I’m looking forward to getting to a hotel. Hoping today goes smoothly and I can escape at a reasonable hour. I’m betting I could sit here for the next four hours typing away at the meaningless and trivial details of my life and no one at this hospital would miss me.

I’m here alone on a vague and ambiguous job where I won’t have any actual work to do unless something goes wrong. Then my job is to simply assuage peoples’ fears about the product until either I or the hospital’s IT personnel can figure out a solution to the problem.

How’s that for a job description? Would anyone apply for a job where the duties were, “do nothing, unless something breaks… then you might still have nothing to do but take the brunt of our customers’ abuse.”

Since when has my career degraded back to a customer service job? I might as well put on a blue polyester vest and a name tag that says, “Hello! My name is PAUL, how can I help you?”

Not that there is anything wrong with jobs like that… every company needs people to go to work for them on the front lines and not everyone gets to be an astronaut. But I really thought I left those kinds of positions behind when I opened my own business. I’m used to wearing multiple hats every day… but this is an old, worn out hat I haven’t worn in a long, long time.

But wear it I will. I asked for more opportunities on other contracts with this company… I guess this is my reward. Or test. Or punishment.

Regardless, I will attack it as I attack every job – and do it to the best of my ability.

Even if I have to say, “Thank you for shopping with us, have a nice day!” five-hundred times today.

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Welcome to the world of government work. I’ve done… nothing today. Left at 4 AM to get here at 7 AM. It is now 11 AM and I have done absolutely no work. None. Zero.

But at least I’m not alone.

I sat in the tech-workshop area for the majority of the day. I watched one guy sleep in his chair for a good 30 minutes. I listened to two workers argue the definition of “broken” over an LCD panel with a backlight issue. I’ve listened to two other workers arguing over the Cleveland Cavaliers for a good 20 minutes…

Ok, scratch that… 40 minutes… they’re still going.

Ah, if only I had a floor-creeper and a truck to work on… I could be napping right now.

Going to go have lunch shortly. There is just nothing better to do…

The Chronicles Of Etch

Another story of an experience with Etch. The man should write a book about his life. Character development would only need to be his own. Unfortunately, I believe this is the last time I have seen Etch in person...

This on was from February 25, 2008

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What a time to forget the trail mix...

I purposely went out and bought trail mix for this week. Bagged it, got it ready to go, and then in my rush to make my flight, forgot to take it.

This didn’t occur to me until I was already at the airport, waiting on my flight. I checked the flight status before leaving for the airport. It showed on-time, no delays. Decent weather in DC where I would get my connection to Indianapolis. Snow is falling lazily in Buffalo; nothing that would cause an issue here.

But as luck would have it, the plane was coming into Buffalo from Philadelphia, where nothing runs on time. Ever.

At least it seems that way. Sometimes I think that airport should just eliminate its schedules altogether.

“Well, we need to get these 10 flights out and these 10 flights in… what times should we be scheduling them at?”

“Eh… just let them do whatever.”

Seems like that might work out better.

Anyway, an hour delay out of Buffalo… and only an hour layover in DC. This was going to be interesting. Just how interesting was yet to be seen.

The flight landed at Regan National at the exact time my flight was supposed to depart for Indianapolis. We taxi to the gate where we proceed to sit and wait for a ground crew to help park the plane.

You would think these highly paid, professional pilots that can fly the plane 500 mph in the dark and find an airport could park the damn things without help…

Unfortunately they sent the ground crew to the wrong gate, which if you’re familiar with Regan National… it is perhaps the most logistically screwed up airport in the history of airports. There is no way for ground crew to go from the odd-gates side of a concourse to the even-gates side of the same concourse without going all the way around the concourse. So the ground crew was sent to gate 35 when the plane came into gate 36… and 10 minutes later we were able to park.

You have three concourses that aren’t connected together anywhere but the main concourse on the wrong side of security. Passengers can’t go from concourse to concourse without exiting and re-entering security, so they shuttle-bus passengers between the concourses and make them go up and down the outside stairs of jet ways. US Airways express flights all leave from the same 2 gates. They park the planes out on the tarmac a bus-drive away from the terminal…

Hence I avoid this airport, usually. This week I had no other options.

I jumped on the shuttle to take me to the other concourse to try and get my connecting flight. I scramble to get there as quickly as possible. I approach the unattended gate, a plane is still sitting there with the jet way attached, but there is no gate agent. I quickly run to the flight board to check the status of my flight. It’s still showing boarding. I hear the door at the gate open and run back to the gate.

“This is still the flight for Indianapolis?”

“Yes,” the agent said, “but it’s closed.”

“Well, the jet way isn’t closed up yet, can I get on the flight?” I said handing her my connecting boarding pass.

“I’ll go check with the pilot, hang on.” She said as she ran back through the door.

I watch the pilots in their dimly lit cockpit as I see her reach around the jet way cover to knock on their window and get their attention. I see her gesturing to the pilot and he opens the side window to hear her.

He looks up at the gate. Looks back at her…

…and shakes his head, no.

That rat fucking bastard.

The gate agent returns with a long face as they roll the jet way away from the plane and push it back.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “it’s his decision… I asked, I even pleaded. You saw him shake his head?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“I’m sorry, there’s really nothing I can do.”

“I know.” I replied with obvious annoyance in my voice. “So, how does US Airways intend to get me to Indianapolis tonight?”

“Well, we have a 6:45AM flight…”

“No... tonight. I scheduled this flight to get there tonight.”

“That was our last flight out tonight, I’m sorry.”

“I realize that, hence holding it for another five minutes to get ALL the passengers on might have been worthwhile… don’tchyathink?”

“I’m sorry sir, re-ticketing you for tomorrow morning is the best I can do. You can take the shuttle to the other concourse and speak with customer service.”

Great.

So I shuttle back to the concourse I landed at. There is no one at the customer service desk, so I head up to the airline club. There is always someone up there.

The rep behind the desk at the airline club wasn’t very helpful. There were no flights on any other airline to get me to Indianapolis and all she wanted to do was stick to her “policies.”

“It was a weather delay sir, we don’t compensate passengers for weather delays.”

“But I could have made the flight if we had a ground crew to park the plane…”

“Oh, I hear that excuse all the time.” She replied with a tone of accusation, as if I didn’t do everything I could to make my flight.

“Well,” I said, “if you hear that so often maybe the airline should do something to FIX that PROBLEM.”

I believe it was at that point she understood the gravity of my displeasure. She quickly got up, “I’ll get my supervisor for you sir…”

I waited for her supervisor, sending text messages to Sarah. I knew she would have some empathy for my plight. The desk agent returned and told me it would be just a minute.

I was looking down at my phone sending text messages when I was approached by a young man, all smiles, obviously intent on trying to calm me down, or at least make me less unhappy even if he too said he couldn’t do anything for me.

“I’m sorry for the travel issues you’ve run into today… how can I assist you?” he asked.

I explained the whole thing. Best he could do was offer me a discounted hotel room at a nearby hotel.

“If you call the number on the coupon they can help you find a room.” He suggested.

I thanked him and left, still very annoyed and displeased.

As I walked out past security to the hotel information desk, dialing the number on the coupon, I looked at the flight tickers for anything going close to Indianapolis. There was a flight to Columbus, delayed until 9:30 PM. It was now 8:35 PM, I had some time before making that decision, but that would be about a three hour drive to Indianapolis from there.

Doable.

“I’m sorry sir, there are no hotel rooms available within your area…” the voice on the phone said, “if you call back in 15 minutes we might have something free up for you when our system refreshes.”

I thought, you’re using a real-time system you can’t manually refresh? That’s awesome…

I stepped up to the courtesy kiosks and started calling hotels directly.

Nothing. Nothing at the Hilton, Marriott, Hampton, Embassy, Super 8, Econolodge, Sheckie’s Swedish Institute and Flop House. My Diamond VIP status didn’t even matter. Not a single non-English speaking person at the local hotels could free up a room for me.

I even called the Hilton hotline.

Not a single room, anywhere.

Options?

Sleep in the airport… or move on.

Sleeping in the airport is no fun… going somewhere else, could be an adventure.

I raced back up to US Airways ticketing and approached the counter. It was 9:05PM.

I step up to the counter with my current boarding pass for tomorrow morning in hand and try to get the attention of one of the agents. Two agents are there working on another passenger’s ticket and talking to each other. One reaches out to me and takes the boarding pass from my hand without acknowledging me or diverting from her conversation.

She looks at the boarding pass.

“What is this?”

“It’s my re-issued boarding pass for tomorrow morning to Indianapolis. But you have a flight right now in delay going to Columbus, Ohio. I want to get on that one instead. Let’s make this happen!”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she said, “I was supposed to go home at nine, I can’t do this right now.”

I took a very deep breath and reminded myself… sympathy. Empathy. More flies with honey…

“Ma’m,” I started, “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ve had a very long day, as have I. I just really can’t spend the night here.”

“Ok, ok.. hang on a minute.” She went through the door behind her, I was hoping with the purpose of going to go work on this.

A moment later, the same customer service manager I dealt with for the hotel pass came out, again, all smiles.

“Ok, so you want to go to Columbus instead?”

“Yeah, I can drive to Indy tonight from there.”

“Ok, they’re going to be closing security and the plane is boarding, we have to run!”

And run we did… to the other concourse from where US Airways’ ticketing actually is. I picked up my bags and we ran to security. He flashed his badge and explained to the security guard I have to change flights and get through with a boarding pass dated for tomorrow. They took my ID and boarding pass and let me through.

The gate was just on the other side of security. We got to the gate; he took control of a terminal and printed my new boarding documents.

“Ok, you’re all set. Good luck on the drive to Indy.”

“Thank you so much for your help tonight, I really appreciate it.”

“Not a problem! Glad you won’t be stuck here. That would have sucked.”

Indeed it would have. How much trouble could I get into dragging bags behind me in Washington DC?

But, I know Etch lives between Columbus and Indianapolis. That could be just the right amount of trouble to end the day with.

I took a seat on the plane and quickly dialed him up.

“Yo dude, wassup?” was his greeting, in his raspy, ever friendly voice.

“Hey man, I’m in DC right now, on a plane going to Columbus. I’ll be there in an hour or so. You free tonight?”

“So, you’re flying to Columbus, right now?”

“Yep, will be there in about an hour.”

“That’s cool. I have to drive up to Columbus? Or, what is your plan? Where do you have to go?”

“I’m driving to Indianapolis. I missed a flight, Columbus was the closest I could get.”

“Oh, ok. So you’ll have to drive through here anyway. We could go somewhere around here.”

“Sounds good to me as long as you’re free.”

“Cool. Yeah, hey. Yeah, we can go out for some drinks or something. It would be great to see you.”

“Sure would be! I have to get running, but I’ll call when I land.”

“Ok man, and in the meantime I’ll find someplace we can go.”

“Somewhere with food… man, I haven’t had anything since lunch.”

“Ok, cool. See you soon.”

The flight went quickly. The time seemed to speed by. I landed in Columbus, haggled with Avis getting a, "car," and lost. I got a Cobalt. Sorry, a Cobalt is not a car. It’s a paper cup on wheels. But I took what I could get, and I hit the road.

I spoke with Etch a couple times as he determined our destination.

“There is a b-dubs in Huber Heights, but they close at 1AM. Would only give us about a half-hour of time there.”

“Well, that works if that is where you want to go.”

“Nah, let me find something else, I’ll get back to you.”

I kept driving. The weather was worsening as I got further west. The truck traffic was merciless, and of course, Avis gave me a car with no windshield washer fluid in it.

Nothing like driving blind, on unfamiliar roads, at night, in the snow at 75 MPH in a car that gets tossed by every flake and wind gust it encounters.

“Taylorville Tavern,” Etch called back with this suggestion, “they’re open until two and she said she’d cook us anything we want all night.”

“Awesome. Sounds like a plan.”

Really, at this point, anything sounded good. Just to get off the road for a bit. To relax and not have to be running. I found it by the address on my GPS. It was a quiet area on the outside – the tavern tucked away in the corner of a business plaza. A gentle snow was still falling all around, covering everything in white.

I walked into a smoke filled bar-room. I saw Etch and his girlfriend near the pool tables shooting a game. I walked across the nearly empty bar and took a quick inventory of the people that were there. Typical, small-town watering hole type crowd.

Etch and his girlfriend both greeted me with hugs.

“You know, after I left the project I just figured, it’s one of those things,” he explained, “you know, we didn’t get to work with each other enough, then I’m gone and I’m thinking, well I guess I’ll probably never see these guys again.”

“But here I am.”

“Here you are! That’s cool man. You’re one of those guys I want to keep in touch with.”

“Same goes for you. I figured I’d have to drive through your neck of the woods, how could I not try and get together with you for at least one drink?”

“Well I’m glad you thought of it,” he said as his girlfriend put her arms around him. He smiled a beaming smile. The kind that gives you a sense of not just his genuine happiness, but something that can only be described as bliss. We sat down and perused a menu as we had some drinks.

“We’ve always had good times on the road, you know?” he said, “Like… Titusville!”

“Oh, what? Titusville? I’ve never been to Titusville! I have no idea what you’re talking about!” I joked back at him. His girlfriend laughed and we both gave her that, “It happened on the road, it stays on the road” smile and wink as we all laughed.

We drank, shot pool and had some standard fare bar food until about 2:30AM. We laughed a lot, and shared some old stories. We caught up on life, and what has been happening in our lives since the last time he and I were actually able to get together… it’s been so long, I can’t even say for sure when it was? Tacoma last summer? There must have been a time after that… but the days blend into the weeks and the weeks fly by… before you know it, an entire month has passed and so much of life has passed by with it.

The bartender had fun with us and we tortured her a bit trying to make this small-town bar’s hand-written receipt into something that can actually be expensed. I decided it just wouldn’t happen. I covered the tab. I’ll make it up somewhere.

We said our good-byes and I hit the road for another two hours of driving this little red death-trap across the Midwest.

I arrived at my hotel at about 4:20AM, ready for sleep. I had called the hotel from the road to ensure they were still holding my room. I walked in and a tired looking desk clerk quickly processed my check-in… I staggered to my room carrying my bags, dropped everything inside the door, stripped to boxers and collapsed in bed.

My 7:30 wake-up call would be coming all too quickly…

Philanthropic Endeavors

During our recent conference in Santa Ana, CA, our company took time out to do some philanthropic community service for the area Boys and Girls club.

...this is my team. Simply put, I'm proud to be a part of this team, to know these people and to work for a company that puts forth these kinds of efforts to make our communities a better place.