I’m Late for a Very Important Date

This is the largest mall in the US. The Mall of America. I’m in Minneapolis.

I have a rented car and a 9:20 AM flight to ,,,

wait for it ,,,

Omaha, Nebraska.

What a thrill.

My mentor suggests I leave the hotel at around 7:30 AM to make it on time. I figure, she’s done this before. She knows what she’s talking about. I thought it might be cutting it a bit close, but I thought I could do it.

So, I woke up at 6:30 AM to begin the metamorphosis, which takes an hour. And I leave at 7:30. No coffee. No breakfast. I’ll pick something up at the airport.

I’m driving to the airport, reversing the written directions given to me by my mentor. The GPS Hadassah loaned me didn’t work. But that’s another story. I’m doing good. Then I start to see signs for the airport. There was an exit. I took it.

Hmmm. This doesn’t look familiar. I was lost.

I checked the directions, I checked Google Maps, but you need an address for that to work and I didn’t have a street address for the airport. I asked directions and got back on track.

I find the airport. But which terminal am I? Terminal 1 or Terminal 2? It didn’t say on the signs along the way. So, I just picked one and then tried to find the rental car return. The women then tells me I’m in the wrong terminal. So I drive to the other Terminal to return my car.

Done. It’s now 8:40 AM, which was boarding time.

I followed the directions of the woman at the rental car area to the tram which was supposed to get me to the gates. I waited for the Tram. Once on, I saw a pilot and asked him if this was the correct Tram after the doors closed. He said, “No. We just left the area you need to be at.”

“What the fu--?”

Now I’m starting to get the sweats. I’m almost crying on the damned Tram.

“What do I do?”

He’s like, “Get off at the next stop and go across the tracks and get the next Tram back.”

“Thanks.” Sniff, Sniff.

“Maybe you’ll make it.”

The next stop, I get out and wait. It’s 8:55.

I was supposed to meet my mentor at the gate. I’m not there! I reach for my cell to try and call her, but I couldn’t get a signal.

I saw some more pilots and stewardesses. I decided to follow them. Then I decided to ask the woman what to do and where to go when we get there. The stewardess was really nice and receptive.

I had a voicemail. It was my mentor leaving a message. She told me that she realized that something happened since I was not at the gate, but that I could take the next plane out if I missed it. She was pretty calm. Then she had to go since the plane was boarding.

The stewardess said, “Don’t worry. Stay with us. We’ll get you through. You’ll make it.”

The Tram came. We all got on. Me and the Delta staff.

9:05.

My heart is beating out of my chest.

The nice stewardess prepped me on our approach to the terminal. Once we got there she led me toward security and let me go first. I zipped through. All they pilots helped me quickly pass through the metal detector checks as well …

… And I was off to the gate!

9:10

I’m running now, to the gate. Did I mention what I’m wearing? I’m wearing my grey Tahari dress, Gucci pumps, Dior oversized sunglasses, carrying my silver Yves Saint Laurent handbag and my blue and purple leopard Betsey Johnson carry on luggage. Can you picture me running through the airport in that get up?

Then I started getting out of breath and my legs started to hurt, because I’m so out of shape due to my back injury. I was loosing steam and my muscles were hurting. But I had to keep going. It was 9:15. The plane was leaving at 9:20.

I see the gate. I’m getting closer! Oh, it hurts. Keep going! Don’t stop! You CANT miss this plane because you are out of shape!! You can rest later. Run, Blue Shoes, run! Go, go, go!

As I approach the Gate 14C I hear an overhead announcement that this was the last call for the flight to Omaha. I got to the gate.

Out of breath, I handed the boarding pass to the attendant.

“Go right through."

“I’m in!!!”

“I MADE IT!” I thought, as I boarded the plane. Still out of breath. I got on and found my seat waiting for me.

I was sweating and still out of breath. I settled in and prepared to take off. Then we waited.

And waited.

And …

,,, Waited.

Ironically enough, we then sat in the aircraft for two hours waiting to take off.

I just lost two years off my life.

I’m Mr. Snow Miser

It’s hot. But I’m cold! What’s up with that?

It’s the middle of July in New York City. I’ve recently travelled to California, Indiana, Minnesota, and Nebraska, where it’s an average of 400 degrees right now. So, why am I freezing?

A.C.

Air conditioning.

Does anyone else have a problem with this?

I don’t understand why I need to be freezing wherever I go; cabs, planes, buses, airports, hotels, restaurants, conference rooms.

I’m travelling to a warm weather area. Why is it that I need to pack a parka?

It doesn’t matter where you go. It’s always friggin’ freezing.

I was in the Swiss Alps and I was warmer. At least I was prepared with thermals and the right clothing. I don’t understand it. Is everyone so hot that they need it to be 40 degrees indoors? I think it is going to be warmer in Lindsay Lohan’s jail cell than that!

By the way, I’m on a plane right now. It’s 35 degrees, and I’m freezing my ass off. And God forbid someone gives you a fashtunkena blanket. No way.

When am I allowed to go to a warm-weather place, and actually be warm? Anywhere?

I can think of one now.

Europe.

Greece.

When you’re on a Greek Island, there’s no AC. You can’t find anything cold there in the summer. Not even ice.

It’s hot. And it’s heavenly.

There, the Heat Miser wins.

Blue Shoes in the Middle/Junk in the Trunk

I really don’t mind all this traveling I'm doing, but I hate the people on the plane. I don’t want to look at them. I don’t want to talk to them. I don’t want to hear them, feel them, or smell them or their food. Is it just me? Am I anti-social?

The men are annoying. I used to feel this way when I rode the Long Island Railroad for many years. People are just damn annoying.

Especially the men. Why do they think they have the right to take up more than one seat with their arms and legs. Why do they have to sit with their legs spread out wide enough to trip somebody passing in the isles? People say men sit that way because of what they have between their legs. Well, I don’t buy it. Are their balls so damned big that they have to take up two seats? I mean damn! I doubt it.

Why do they feel like they have to also take up three seats while reading the New York Times? Them and their freaking New York Times. Do they think they are so important because they are reading the New York Times? I’ve got news buddy, we can all read the Times asshole.

Because of this, I hate the middle seat on,,, anything. Especially on a six hour flight to Cali. Because they could be doing their shenanigans for six hours on a plane instead of 35 minutes on a train. On my most recent trip to LA, I got the middle seat. There was nothing I could do to change it, so I was stuck. To the right of me there was a young girl. To the left of me a young guy. The girl was out of it. She slept the entire trip. The thing about her was, she was all over the place. Her head was bobbing so much it shook the whole row. A few times, I found her head on my shoulder. Great.

But the girl wasn’t as bad as the guy on the other side. Now, you have to follow me closely. When you are sitting on a plane, you basically look forward. Not side-to-side, right? When you look forward, you see what’s directly in front of you (the back of the seat in front of you). When you look down, you see your legs, your feet, your lap I guess. Your peripheral vision sees the backs of the seats on either side of you, those people’s legs, feet, and lap, right? You don’t see their face, because you have to turn your head to look side to side in order to do that.

Ok. So, as I stared forward, at the TV screen, so as not to look side to side at my neighbors (God forbid I should make eye contact), I can see movement in their laps through my peripheral vision.

Wait a minute.

I thought I just saw the guy adjust his junk.

Huh?

Did I just see what I thought I saw?

Did he really do that?

No he didn’t. He couldn’t have.

Oh yes he did! He did it again.

He just flicked his crotch.

Ok. Maybe he just had a little itch.

--

--

Minutes later…

Oh, oh! Did he do it again?

Yes! He flicked his dick, again!!

Oh my god! I have to just look forward. Just keep looking forward BSM, so you don’t have to see it happen again.

Please don’t do it again, asshole in 14D!! I can’t take,,,,

Shit!

He did it again!!!

Ugh!!!

Why???

Why me god!!

I can’t!

I don’t wanna see it agai….

Dang!

Not again! He flicked his Bic!

Mother fucker! Make it stop!

It didn’t.

This went on for six hours.

I was going to start counting the number of times he funked his junk during the trip, but then I’d have to really be looking and I just wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening. I wanted to be in denial of the adjustments of the package.

Does he have a disease?

If he does, I hope I can’t catch it. I mean, I’m really close to him and his fleas!

I swear. He must have done it over 50 times during the trip.

All this, while Miss Head Bobber continued to bonk her head up and down on my shoulder! God bless her. I can’t even take a flippin cat nap on a plane.

For the love of God, please make it stop.

It only stopped when we landed and deboarded. (Is that a word?)

Anyway, the only consolation was that on the return flight I lucked out. It was an empty plane, and I had an entire row of seats to myself. Thank God for little favors.

Stranded

I was at a business conference in Miami. During the trip, my boss and I did a favor for someone. In return, she treated us both to massages. I’d never had a massage before, to the disbelief of my co-workers. I didn’t even really know if I wanted one. I mean, the thought of being alone and naked in a hotel room with a stranger touching my body with oil, really kinda creeped me out. However, after much contemplation, I decided to go for it.

The night I schedule the massage for, was an evening that my co-workers were all going to go out for dinner together. I would catch up with them afterwards. So, I ordered room service and prepared to be massaged. It went fine. But I never really relaxed and enjoyed it the way others describe.

Whatever.

Per the masseuse’s instructions, I showered afterwards. After the shower, I was lounging in the room with my fluffy robe, slippers, and towel wrapped high around my head. Very similar to Marge Simpson’s hair. Which is blue, by the way. My robe, slippers, and towel, however, were not. They were white.

I decided to get rid of my dirty dinner tray, so I rolled the dinner cart out the door and placed it neatly in the hallway.

Click.

I turned around and was staring at a closed door.

What?

Huh?

Did I just…?

NOOOOOOOO!

I was locked out of my room! Stuck in the hallway in my white fluffy, bathrobe, slippers, and Marge Simpson towel head!

Ugh!

Now what was I gonna do?

The halls were thankfully empty as I quickly looked back and forth, up and down the hallway.

What was I to do? My roommate wasn’t set to return until late, I couldn’t go down to the lobby like this. I thought about knocking on the door of the famous surgeon who I knew was staying across the hall from us. But no, I couldn’t.

I finally decided to venture down the hallway and look for a house phone. I tried it. No dial tone. No answer! Damn.

Now what?

Think Blue Shoes! Think!

Finally, a bellhop passed by. I talked to him. Convinced him that I was locked out. Went through the whole story. All while wearing my crazy get-up! I guess he believed me, and he was off to get a pass key.

Of course he left me waiting in the middle of the hallway with my Marge Simpson towel on my head.

I have a question. Does anyone else have this shit happen to them? Or is it just me??

It's a Twister/Toto I Don't Think We’re In Kansas Anymore

I arrived in Omaha. My mentor, Tara, was waiting for me at the door. I had to pick up my luggage there. From the sea of black leather computer bags, I picked up my turquoise and purple leopard print Betsey Johnson carry on. Tara said, “I figured that one was yours.” I only knew Tara for less than a day, and she already had me figured out.

We checked into the hotel and planned to meet for dinner later that night. I was waiting for her in the lobby, when I heard a very loud sound. Like a siren. I think it was coming from outside. No one was really bothered by it but me. I had my ears covered. When Tara came down, she snickered, “Maybe we better get a table in the basement.” I smiled, but didn’t know what the heck she was talking about.

Apparently, Omaha is notorious for tornados, and they were expecting one. The siren was a tornado warning from the city. When you hear that, you’re supposed to take cover. We were about to get in a car. I was like, “Maybe we should wait.” But no one seemed too concerned, including Tara, who was driving.

The sky was black. Ours was practically the only car on the road. We got to the restaurant and asked for a seat far away from the windows. By the time dinner was done, the storm was over.

Ok. So. So far this day had stressed me out. I better just go to bed and try again tomorrow.

I did my business the next day and was off to the airport home. Thank goodness. Unfortunately, I had a connecting flight to New York, but whatever. I made sure I got to the airport early. The flight was on time. Yey! I was almost home. As the flight time approached, the gate announced weather problems in Detroit (where my connection to New York was) and that the Omaha flight there was going to be held an hour. Therefore, I was going to miss my connection and ran the risk of having to stay over in Detroit for the night.

I called my travel agent. She told me to go to Detroit and take my chances. But as I thought about it, and waited more and more, I thought, “I’d rather stay the night here in Omaha, than in Detroit.”

I called my travel agent back, “Are there any flights out in the morning?”

“Yes, and it’s empty.”

“Book it Danno!”

I went back to the gate attendant. She was able to get me on that flight in first class. I was so on it. Made my way back to the hotel and checked back in, ordered room service, and a shuttle to the airport the next morning. 5:00 AM.

I didn’t order a wake up call, but set my clock alarm to what I thought was 3:45 AM. I know. That’s just wrong!

Crashed.

Alarm went off in the morning. 4:45 AM. By the time I actually noticed the time, it was 4:48.

What? I have to be at the shuttle at 5! I can’t believe I did that!!

I called down to the front desk to see if they could wait a few minutes for me.

“No.”

Shit!!

The next shuttle was a 5:30.

Damn!

I immediately started putting my stuff together and getting dressed. Maybe I’ll make it. Didn’t wash my face or brush my teeth. Got to the lobby.

5:03.

The shuttle left.

But of course it would.

Hopefully the 5:30 shuttle would get me to the airport in enough time to make the flight. I tried to order a cab. They told me a cab could be at the hotel within 20 minutes.

I forgot. This is definitely NOT New York. “Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.”

Cancelled!

So as I said I started the new job. Traveling. A new city each week. Was in Indianapolis this week. Hope I never need to go back. I actually couldn't wait to leave there yesterday after 3 days.

Here's how it went down. I was in my training all morning. Checked in online the night before. I got an email on my Blackberry saying something about my flight during the meeting. But you know, I didn't pay attention to it. I just figured it was a message confirming my flight or something. I was in a meeting. So. I ignored it. Right?

Right.

Wrong.

Stupid.

My co-worker, Yetta, had rented a car. We were to drive together to the airport for our similar flights. Mine to NYC. Her’s to Charlotte, NC.

Of course we got lost on route. So when we were finally on course we were in a mad rush. We dropped off the rental car and made a mad dash to the gate. I glanced at the departure board on the way. Flight 5988 to LaGuardia. Hmmm. There it is.

What?

Cancelled?

Cancelled!

CANCELLED?!?

I went up to the desk. “Here’s your boarding pass, first class, for tomorrow morning’s six AM flight. You can stay at any one of these hotels tonight.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“Flight’s been cancelled due to weather.”

I don’t know. There was some kind of storm back in New York. Well, needless say, this really sucked. But I had to suck it up. I called one of the hotels. Got there. Checked in. Sulked for a while. Then ordered room service.

I ate for three people. Pizza, salad, buffalo wings, and a coke. No wonder I’ve gains five pounds since I started this fokacta job.

Later, with an upset stomache, I broke out my Blackberry and started writing this. Thus the typos. Went to bed early, so I could wake up at 3:30 AM to make my 6 AM flight.

First class was great. But nothing’s ever perfect, right? The guy next to me snored the entire flight. So, so much for first class.

In the words of Dorothy, while clicking her stiletto ruby slippers, "There’s no place like home."

I'm Back!

So, as I previously mentioned, I got a new job. I just started it. Like four weeks ago. A lot of travel is involved. I haven’t posted since I started. Because, I’M EXHAUSTED! I’ve already traveled to California, three times, and to Indianapolis since I began. And I really gotta make sure I do a good job. Otherwise, I’m poor again.

So. Please forgive me for the absence.

So, I’m exhausted.

Did I mention, I’m exhausted?

Sorry.

I’ll stop it.

Today, I’m in Indy. Training. I’m training with a woman from Charlotte. She’s really nice and we get along very well. We met in California, on my first trip out there, like my second day of work. She’s doing the same training. Turns out, we art sort of training together. So, she’s here, in Indianapolis as well. By the way, her name is, Yetta.

Yetta and I have been hanging out for meals and stuff. We go to breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Get separate checks so that we can expense our meals. Submit our individual credit cards.

Tonight we went to Charleston’s. We were dressed nicely and had a very nice dinner. We had some friendly banter with the waiter before and during the meal. Where are you from? Where are YOU from?

He distributed our separate checks. We both took out our credit cards and placed them in the small folders, while continuing to talk. I think I was telling a story or something. We placed our bill folders on the edge of the table. Credit cards poking out the top.

The waiter passed by and picked them up.

We continued to yenta it up.

The waiter returned with the two folders. He says to Yenta, “Here’s yours.”

Then he says with a straight face, “… and THIS one has someone’s room key in it.”

OMG!!!

Yetta and I look at each other and burst out laughing.

Oh my god! I just gave this guy my room key instead of my credit card!!

How embarrassing!!

Does he think I just hit on him??

Poor Yetta. She has no idea who she’s with. Little does she know she’s with Blue Shoes Manhattan!

She’ll never be the same.