

### The Middle Seat - Volume I

First Class V. Coach. I'll Take First Class Please...

Published by Jay Conlin at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Jay Conlin

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1 - Welcome To the Middle Seat

I travel for a living. Actually I negotiate labor agreements for a living and since my "territory" is the entire United States, I travel...a lot. The work does not come to me so I go to the work. Now I know other people travel more than I do but given that I am "On the road" at least 40 weeks a year, I felt that qualified as enough travel time to tell people. When you travel that much...things "happen". For instance, three years ago I flew to Florida in mid-December (with my wife) simply so I could achieve the highest status on my preferred airline. It was a brilliant plan and I did achieve my status...our flights home were also canceled which meant we drove home to Pennsylvania (I needed to be back for work). Oh yes, and I got the stomach flu somewhere around Rocky Mount, North Carolina. It wasn't pretty. My wife drove by the way...

These are the types of stories I have been sharing on my Blog called...you guessed it...The Middle Seat since 2011 and now I have decided to put them in e-book form. This is Volume I: I hope you enjoy

Chapter 2 - Departure Day

Monday:

4:45 AM: The alarm on my smart phone blares the calypso music my wife calls "Caribbean Dance Party". It is departure day for another business trip and like most nights before departure day, I sleep fitfully. Not wanting to oversleep I awaken roughly every hour calculating how much time I have before I must get out of bed. It is a ridiculous exercise I repeat for nearly every trip. My smart phone has never failed me even though hotel wakeup calls have. Nonetheless, I am a creature of habit. Inevitably I hit a deep level of REM sleep moments before the alarm sounds. Today is no exception and I groan as I exit the bed.

5:15 AM: After a slow start I move steadily now to meet my self imposed 5:45 AM departure deadline multi-tasking as I go. I am not a good multi-tasker. I have coffee brewing, eggs cooking (slowly) and I decide to pack the car while all this is going on. I enter the mud-room and awaken Chase and Murphy, our Golden Retriever and Chocolate Lab "experiment" (he is NOT a pure breed). While I am not a deep sleeper, I do sleep better knowing the dogs will at least startle any potential intruder providing me some sense of security as the "protector" of the house. That comfort has now been thrown out the window. Today they would be better named "Coma" and "Tose" as both are out cold. They look like teenagers being awakened for the first day of school, squinting through the bright glare and seemingly asking, "What's your _problem_ "? They follow me out and while I load the car, they take care of their morning "business", except Murph is taking longer than usual. Eventually, I discover why, I have solved the mystery of the missing Ziploc bag from the table a day earlier. The car is packed, the dogs are back in bed and the eggs are overcooked.

5:47 AM: I congratulate myself for basically hitting my deadline. The weather forecaster on "Way Too Early" (It is by the way) says it will be a beautiful day in the Northeast and the Mid-Atlantic (I live an hour from Philadelphia). "Thunderstorms cropping up in Minneapolis...expect airport delays and rough weather out that way". I connect through Minneapolis...

**7:14 AM** : I have parked my giant SUV in the parking garage. My car hits the yellow colored "no vehicles larger than 6 ft." sign with a loud screech and bang every time I enter the lot. While the car seems no worse for the wear, the sign could use a coat of paint. I continue this ritual as I have yet to get stuck in an up or down ramp. I head to the self serve kiosk to print my boarding pass. I checked in yesterday but with a new company issued laptop, I am unable to print on my printer at home. This technological speed bump is easily fixed by most people except me. I have neither the patience nor the ability to remedy this situation without using a debit card...so I complain and work around it as much as possible. While checking in I failed to notice my seat assignment so I am thrilled to discover that I am in First Class to Minneapolis. I am on a waiting list to San Francisco, my first destination this week. For the first leg at least, my Florida trip in December has paid off.

7:52 AM: _Philadelphia to Minneapolis_ **.** I have boarded the plane, A Boeing 757. Unlike most aircraft, on these you board at a secondary door behind first class and go left instead of right. While I am thrilled to be among "the elite" this morning, the boarding procedure eliminates my primary way to pass the boarding time. That is, to see what passengers look like "famous" people. Given the circumstances, I am happy to skip the game.

11:44 AM (CDT) **:** _Minneapolis to San Francisco_. COACH!!! I AM IN COACH!!!? I obviously spoke too soon and now I question why I would take a weekend out of my life last December to become "Super-Duper Elite" only to be assigned seat 20B on a flight over three hours. The "B" must stand for "Basically no leg room" or perhaps "Be miserable for the next three plus hours". Either way, there isn't and I am.

1:55 PM (PDT) **:** We land in San Francisco and while it was not an enjoyable experience my emotions are tempered as a "medical emergency" occurred on board that required paramedics to greet our flight and remove a passenger. No word on her condition but she walked off under her own power...barely. My smart phone prompts me to switch to west coast time but I reject it as "too much technology". Getting out of my seat I bang my head on the overhead bin. A number of people gasp and many ask if I am okay. I do my best "that didn't hurt impression" and pack up. No medical emergency just humiliation as I appear to be some "rookie" flyer...the label further enhanced by my seat assignment of 20B.

3:07 PM (PDT): I have retrieved my rental car and arrive at my meeting destination. Late. The drive over was temporarily improved by the fact that my rental car had satellite radio. Unfortunately no one had activated it and while the "preview" channel tries to be enticing. It isn't. After a two hour meeting takes three, I depart for a dinner meeting and then head off to my hotel. Lights out at 10:00 PM left coast time and my nearly twenty-one hour day is complete.

Tuesday:

1:45 AM (PDT): The Caribbean Dance Party starts all over...my "smart" phone thinks its 4:45 AM...too much technology and my day begins way too early...

Chapter 3 - An Extended Home Stand

I spent just over one hundred twenty nights last year in hotels. Some of the hotels are places I have been to many times. The front desk staff is alerted to this fact in their computers and they do their best to try to make their hotel feel like "home." It is not unusual to here the familiar refrain "Welcome back Mr. Colon". Colon??? Really? I know I travel more than "most" people but I also know there are others who have it way worse than I do when it comes to business travel. I am rarely away from home on weekends (occasionally I have a Sunday flight out but that's the exception, not the rule). Also, I occasionally hit periods of time where no negotiations are scheduled and since I work out of my home instead of our corporate office, I can actually be home for a week or so straight without interruption. I am currently in one of those periods...for three weeks.

"Routines"

I love my job, but I love my family more. Still...Extended home stands, as I call times like this, require a certain level of adjustment on my part as well as my family. Over the years they have adapted pretty well to my frequent absences and have developed a number of weekday routines that when I'm around, I suddenly (and innocently!) cause to come crashing down. Some "infractions" are small, like engaging my two sons in conversation before they head off to school. I know it's early but grunts over bowls of cereal never really counted as "conversation" as far as I can tell. Others are larger, such as the time I took over control of dinner and fed the kids turkey burgers ("they are white because I cooked them a special way, NOT because they aren't really hamburgers!"). Either way, I have come to realize there are certain times I should try to be somewhat invisible and quiet to allow their routines to exist.

I have a bit of a routine myself which includes finishing up any left over "busy work" (expenses, travel arrangements, email cleanup) as well as "errands" to set myself up for an easier departure the next week and to integrate myself back into "home life". Trips such as dry cleaning, gas in the car and perhaps an after school pickup are pretty standard fare. Usually, I can just go about my day when I am home and cover the basics I need to before my next trip. On the days when I am home for just a short time most things go fairly well. I keep a safe distance in the morning and wait until the kids are out the door before starting my day in full. Additionally, the dogs are still in shock that I have returned (it is clear they believe when I leave with a packed bag that I am gone for good) and walk on eggshells for the first twenty minutes or so I am home. But if I am home for longer periods of time, little lists begin to appear on the kitchen counter. They start out innocently enough: "Hey, can you empty the dishwasher? Have a great Day!" Eventually they can turn into something more like this: "Hey, have to work late today. Can you...empty the dishwasher, pick up dinner (dinner is undefined although I know turkey burgers are out), take Murphy to the vet (Me: "Will it be his final visit? Yes!!"), pickup the kids from school and make sure the lawn gets mowed? Oh and the recycling needs to go out." On the surface not a big deal but even though I am home, I still have some work to do. On the other hand, I also need a little space since my home office is...at home.

"Office Space"

We have been in our current house for almost four years (a record - our children still believe they are in witness protection) and my wife and I started out "sharing" an office, really more like we shared a desk. It started out well intentioned but quickly became a turf war that I lost faster than you can say "why are sitting at my desk again?" Each day that I was home was relatively status quo but still required a pile or two to be moved back across the imaginary "dividing line" of the desk. However, when I would leave town for a trip, my wife saw the desk was bigger and work was easier to do when you could "spread things out". After roughly three business trips the desk had been annexed and I had a pile on the floor next to the desk...primarily because "your work isn't here...it's everywhere but here actually." The "eviction" led to me taking over a room we planned to use as a guest room and dragging a huge, not in very good condition desk we had intended to give away up from the basement to the second floor. The "muscle" (Jim and Bennett, the eighteen and fifteen year olds) in the house helped...between grunts and cereal.

This new arrangement worked well...in theory. The problem was that now I "shared" an office with my daughter Megan (now eleven, then seven) as this was also her "playroom/craft room/place where her toys go to die room." I attempted to share the space as I had with my wife... trouble is...they are very much alike. On days when I was home only a few colored pencils would make their way into my space but take a business trip and it looked like the second grade art class had been taught on my desk. It also appeared there had been some sort of schoolroom brawl... or worse and "stuff" (not my first word choice) would be everywhere. Now, I pride myself on being patient even though I am not. Occasionally, small things set me off. My desk is one of those things. Our worthless "slimline" refrigerator that can't make ice on a regular basis is another. I negotiate for a living and I like to think I can handle most situations but I have decided that if unions ever employee seven year old girls as business agents, I am quitting. The problem was solved with intensive "negotiations" with my daughter. In the end, I succeeded in moving _most_ of the items from the "office" to her room. Four years later...I am still paying off "promises" many of which have been renegotiated by her...colored pencils on my desk have been replaced by hair ties and her ipod.

"Office Hours"

My "office" days are infrequent and inconsistent...usually. I will have an occasional Monday or Friday where I am at home prior to or just after finishing a negotiating session. But as I mentioned before, I do have certain weeks during the year where no negotiations take place, specifically the weeks before Holidays. The struggle is fitting in the "work" around a family that I miss (I am told some days they miss me as well).

Conference calls, emails requesting advice on union related issues, making travel arrangements on the enhanced travel site and a department coordinator who makes sure I don't single handedly slow our work to a crawl keep me plenty busy when I am at home. I have attempted to squeeze in my work day from the time the kids leave school until they return. I also attempted to share offices with the two women of the house and we all know how well that worked.

It's funny because I am not anxious to return to a formal office structure and I am fairly certain the corporation is not anxious for me to return to their formal structure. We both experienced that and I believe it was a mutual decision to "find someplace where he

won't bother everyone." I admit it. When I had an office at our headquarters the amount of true office work was not that much that I needed to physically be there on any kind of regular basis. Because of that, I wandered. At first most of my co-workers seemed happy to have me drop in and chat a while. Lunch dates were booked and generally, people seemed happy to see me return from my travels. However, my social personality started to cause my co-workers stress. They used terms with which I was not familiar...words like "deadline" and "appointment." Eventually, co-workers were picking up the phone just as I walked in and, in the rare instance where I had stuck my foot in before the door could slam, the "admin." would call in with "an emergency on line 1." Until I figured it out, I was very concerned about our company since we appeared to have frequent emergencies. Once I "moved out" productivity for all seemed to increase and I am fairly certain the stock price went up as well. That being said, there is something to having an office space that is dedicated solely for work. For instance, I can't tell you how many conference calls I have taken on the home LAN line (another battle I lost) where the call waiting kicked in. "Sorry Mike, you broke up for a second, could you repeat that"...only to have it beep again. I have had family members start dialing to make a call while I am on the phone... "Hello, I am on a call..." Ok, but how long will you be?" "I am ON A CALL...A WORK CALL!" Click. Three minutes of explaining and all is right again with the world...or at least the call. The simple solution is to take the call on my cell phone which I now do. It still doesn't stop the door bell from ringing, the dogs from barking or the home phone from ringing. While I was on a trip, someone in the family gave the phone in my office a new ring tone...it basically sounds like a fire alarm...I have not figured out how to change it back and no one is admitting guilt. The amnesty period I offered has come and gone.

"This Place Has Gone to the Dogs"

The humans in my house have me pretty well figured out and so we, for the most part, work around my schedule when I am home. That means I may participate in a conference call, hang up and then head off with one of the kids to pick up dinner or sports equipment or folders for school. Somewhat disjointed but really a privilege when you get right down to it. The dogs, Chase and Murphy...AKA "dumb and dumber" are another story. They are the top two sources of my stress at home. I've talked about their unique approach to being the guardians of the house (they sleep better than I do at night) as well as their "love" for me...every time I leave they breathe a sigh of relief, coupled with a look that says "And stay out!" But once I return it's almost as if they think I know the level of celebration and debauchery they have engaged in while I was gone and they now fear my wrath. Sadly, they cannot hold a thought beyond about twelve seconds so this level of obedience is short lived. They have this incredible "habit" of barking incessantly when I call home. It usually causes the call to end swiftly. I do not need to be reminded of these two on the road. What I find interesting...okay totally maddening, is that they do the same thing whenever I get on a work call. In the middle of calls they suddenly go nuts at the front door...I used to go see what the issue was that was creating such a stir but one can only do this so often to find the "problem" was a robin sitting menacingly on the front steps of the house or perhaps a blowing leaf that was in view between naps. I take pre-cautions, I close my office door, warn the callers and put the phone on mute...all things my co-workers at headquarters used to have to do when I was around.

The dogs create an incredible amount of "unplanned work". Just yesterday I finished a call for work and Bennett announced to me that "Stupid Murphy ran away again". My heart filled with hope. "Was his collar on?" I asked excitedly. "Yes" came the answer and my hopes faded. Just then the phone rang. I did not recognize the number...a bad sign. I answered. The voice on the other end sounded like someone who had just survived some sort of trauma...a bit of shock in his quivering voice. "Do you own a chocolate Lab or maybe just some sort of brown dog that might be a lab?" I paused, could I deny he existed? Probably not... Who would believe the dog stole the collar and put it on? I answered affirmatively. "Well, if you could come get him, we are trying to hold on to him but he is really a handful". He sounded like he was riding an electronic bull. I sent the boys to retrieve Murphy and scolded Chase...in case he got any ideas. Ten minutes later the boys returned with Murphy but Bennett left in a hurry muttering words that sounded like words I use at the negotiating table. I looked at Jim and he informed me that on the walk back that "Murphy took care of some business on some guys' driveway...and he wasn't too happy". Tell me about it. I used to refer to myself as a "dog person". Now I refer to myself as a person who has dogs...and they are available... "free to a good home."

The tough part is...they are already in a good home. Mine. And I paid money for them...

Chapter 4 - Homeward Bound?

As in most things in life, there are beginnings and endings. Business trips are no exception. My problem seems to be that despite my best intentions, some of my trips don't end as planned. That is, I don't get home at the designated time. This is not (entirely) my fault. You see, there are any number of intangibles that can ruin a travel plan: traffic, weather, bad luck and my newest favorite, the company self serve on-line travel site. That being said, I "own" a few of the mishaps.

On my most recent trip I really played with fire. First, I booked west coast and east coast meetings in the same week. Second, I did not book a return flight home. After my meetings in San Francisco I headed to Providence, Rhode Island to finish up from an earlier negotiation. I knew the meetings would be fairly straight forward but you never know. For that reason, I decided to leave the end of the trip "open" knowing I could either grab a last minute flight or I could kidnap the rental car and take it back home. If I needed to stay an extra night...I could. I did not want to have any added time pressure imposed on me which might cause me to make a quick deal rather than a good deal.

I arrived in Providence "rested and refreshed" from my cross country jaunt that included a stop in Detroit. It also included another COACH leg from San Francisco! I remember as I booked the flight thinking "Wednesday...should be a no brainer for an upgrade and who goes to Detroit anyway"? Turns out many, many people and they all seem to be at a higher status than my Super-Duper Elite...even if some of them did have backpacks (first class? Really? They looked like they would be happier in coach!) When I asked the gate agent about an upgrade her response was straight forward but hopeful. "Not today sir...but maybe _next_ time"! She smiled. I felt like a kid who had been told recess was cancelled.

The Detroit to Providence leg was on a regional jet which is code for "really fast, really small mode of transportation that utilizes children as pilots". Don't get me wrong, I have taken my share of "prop jobs" a.k.a. "puddle jumpers" where the top speed rivals a condor but at "jet" speed I really prefer a seasoned pilot...not some kid who shaves weekly and calls me "sir". Added to the fun, these jets are smaller in every way, headroom, legroom, seat width, etc. The good news is in the event of an emergency, I was already in the "crash" position as this was the only way to fit into my seat in 3A.

I have not been to the Providence airport in a number of years. Providence to my house is about five and a half hours by car...or plane, all things being "equal". The airport has undergone a fairly substantial renovation and it looks terrific. They have also done an amazing job making a small airport... BIG. The hike to the rental car area required a guide and I am pretty sure included parts of the Appalachian Trail... but eventually I made it. To my delight, not only was the rental center new but it appeared that basically every car was too! This sadly was the highlight of my day. My rental car had a push button starter which means the "key" just needs to be "in the vicinity". After a few false starts (including looking for the ignition to insert the "key") I was under way. The car was brand new with only seventy-nine miles on it.

The next day I made a conscious decision to pack my bag but to leave it at the hotel despite the fact my hotel was further from home than the meeting location.

I made this decision primarily out of superstition. If I were to bring the bag with me the meeting would last longer or worse, continue into the night and I would need to go back to the hotel and spend the night. By leaving the bag at the hotel, I was assured of an early departure...only I would have to go back and get the bag...I had this debate with myself that morning for more than a couple of minutes. This is classic me...I create these lose-lose situations for myself that always leave me second guessing. After "winning" the debate, I moved on...without my bag. I could have chosen to stay at the hotel where the meeting would take place but I have been to this many times. Too many times actually, so staying there was not an option...kind of like getting a second dog (Murphy) was not an option...but this time I did not crumble.

By mid-morning it was clear we were going to finish sooner rather than later. During breaks I started working on my return plan home. The airport was close so I started to look up flights on the "on-line" travel site provided by my company. You have to understand that I am NOT technologically literate or capable...think rental car and "key". Anyway, the travel site is excellent and I have used it for years. It is simple, straight forward and it works for me. Let me repeat that... _it works for me_. I had forgotten that the site had recently received some "enhancements". So many in fact, that the site recommended you attend a "webinar" and take an "on-line tutorial". I said "No" and "Thanks" and moved on...

This was the first time I had to use the site since it had been "enhanced". Now to me enhancement means many things but, it does not mean "so many changes you need a class to recognize - let alone use it". I stumbled along only to get knocked out of the system twice. Eventually, I got to the point where it seemed to understand I was asking for flights to get me home. Apparently, however I was also asking for a miracle as the flights I requested were for that day and I guess, expensive. Rather than alert me that the flights were costly and allow me to determine the cost/benefit it summarily rejected the request and admonished me for "attempting to choose a class of fare even dignitaries would decline".

I am nothing if not stubborn so I continued every "override" I know but it became clear one of the "enhancements" was preventing me from choosing a flight. I went on-line to an airline site (a risky, rogue proposition) and found some reasonable fares but the times were in the past or too far off. I could be home sooner by driving than flying. Rhode Island's newest rental car would be leaving the state.

The meeting ended and I went back to my hotel to retrieve my bag. Just prior to leaving the meeting I grabbed the "keys" out of my pocket and felt a very painful pin prick in my thumb. The key ring had a small but dangerous spur sticking out that managed to hook the perfect spot to make me swear and start sweating from the pain. About an hour into the drive my injured left thumb still hurt and I was fairly sure I had contracted some rare "key FOB borne" illness because I was still feeling warm, almost feverish. I had been distracted at first since the rental car had a complicated "computer screen" that ran everything. An hour in and I finally had the satellite radio working, I knew how fast I was driving and... I was hot. I was getting sick, I could tell. Then it hit me, the vents were blowing warm air at me and it was at least seventy-five outside. I figured out the climate control was set to _heat_. This explained the "fever". Another half hour later and I had managed to fix the climate control and I was now measuring my speed in Kilometers per hour. My thumb still hurt.

It was approximately five o'clock and I now realized I was headed for rush hour traffic in New York City. That later flight was starting to look pretty good. My newly married brother-in-law and his wife live in Westport so I decided to invite myself for dinner to avoid traffic. This was the second time in three weeks I had done this to him. He is a nice guy and after a brief hesitation apparently decided it was easier to accept my "invitation" than come up with an excuse. After a nice visit and an excellent dinner we parted ways. I was careful to not grab the keys too quickly to avoid contracting another potential illness from the FOB. I successfully navigated the "key system" and started the car effortlessly....on the second try. I tossed the keys to my right hand as I started to look around to back up. It was a tight spot made all the more difficult by the fact that I "fish-hooked" my middle finger with the infamous "spur". This one was not only deep but was a bleeder. The swearing and sweating began anew. The heater remained off.

Around 8:30 pm I congratulated myself for my skillful flexibility in getting home from this trip. I had managed around the potential luggage "curse", outsmarted the rush hour traffic situation near Manhattan and was cruising home doing something like 120...Kilometers per hour. I would be home in an hour. I passed a car swiftly and as I pulled in the lane in front of him he flashed his lights. He did it again. I wondered what his problem was until suddenly I realized that other than the screen that ran the "brain" in the car, everything else was dark. That's right, this car that could push button start, cut your hand twice and manage to divert your eyes from the road for minutes at a time while working on its "convenient touch screen" did not have automatic lights! I had no headlights. I checked the "brain" to see if there was an adjustment for this problem with no luck. I did however, manage to learn the pressure in each tire as well as turn on the rear defroster. Eventually I discovered a knob...that turned on the lights. Brilliant. Literally.

I pulled into my driveway at 10:30 PM. The state of Pennsylvania had thrown me a curveball and was doing significant road construction on my route home. I had been dead stopped for about forty-five minutes. I also ran an EZ-Pass toll forgetting I did not have the electronic toll thing in this car. I cursed the "brain." As I exited the car, I opened my suitcase to throw a couple of items in it to limit the trips back and forth to the house. I closed the hatch and started to walk away from the car. I turned and realized the car was still running and I did not have the key. I panicked. Could I really have left the car running _and_ locked the keys in the car? No. The car was unlocked but the key was nowhere to be found. I shut the car off (and the lights) and finally started digging through my suitcase in the dark as this was the only place left to look. Moments later, I found the weapon known as the key...hanging from another impaled finger.

After punting the key across the driveway (and then retrieving it with a thick gardening glove) I walked into my house to be greeted by two snoring dogs and the sudden realization that I had to drive three hours round trip the next day to Philadelphia ...to pick up my car at the airport. I made a mental note to bring band-aids. The trip wasn't over quite yet...

Chapter 5 - Blog Interrupted!

This week's posting will be significantly shorter because of circumstances totally within my control....specifically _work and family_. It's amazing how these two things can really put a crimp in a schedule. Last week I innocently mentioned to a co-worker that I needed to go visit one of the manufacturing plants under his area of responsibility. It seemed like the thing to say and I felt very responsible in doing so. I had no expectation that he would take me up on it anytime soon. You can only imagine my shock and disbelief when he asked what days this week I was free. As I cautiously reviewed my schedule on my Black Berry the look on my face must have been similar to the expression I must have when booking dentist appointments. I had a day free this week but was planning on not booking it, for no other reason than I was planning on not booking it. I told him I had Wednesday free and he could tell I was in pain. He offered to postpone the visit but in all reality it was this week or August. I have learned the hard way to "pull the band aid" instead of waiting...and waiting. Wednesday will be gone before you know it and August won't be any better. Martha Stewart had it right...get it over with. Jail that is...Of course this isn't jail just another form of it...

Having resolved the "over scheduling" crisis in my head during the weekend, I phoned home to finalize my parent's upcoming visit in honor of my oldest son's graduation from high school. I was feeling very relaxed post the five o'clock hour. According to the plan (that had been revised more than once) they were scheduled to arrive Thursday evening via sister and brother-in-law transport. My sister and her husband would then head off to New York City for the weekend, (presumably) returning on Sunday. My other brother in law, the "victim" of a number of "drive by dinners" from me...left the country. Really. In hindsight leaving the country for family events might be a good course of action.

Suddenly, the other shoe dropped. I knew it was coming because "everything was just going too well." My wife and I had the schedule down to the minute and as I started to review it with my father he announced that they would be staying "roughly thirty minutes away on Wednesday night" and that seemed "silly." He suggested they just arrive on Wednesday night ...and "go out to an elegant dinner". I paused. I hyperventilated. I began to see stars (I later realized there were stars visible). The five o'clock libation(s) were powerless to subdue my panic. I had no logical, good reason to say "no." I was about to surrender the remainder of my peaceful week to work _AND_ Family. I of course accepted the idea and all the moving parts associated with the "minor" schedule change. I blew Sunday off completely with a detailed analysis of what had gone wrong. In short...I had spoken. It was that simple. I let my wife break it to Jim that he was about to be without a bed Wednesday night. Instead, I took Murphy on a walk to clear my head...and potentially have him slip his collar. No such luck.

In the end, it's all for the best...really, it is. I swear...a lot actually.

Blogger's note: Next Monday I will begin a string of six out of the next eight weeks where I will be negotiating in St. Louis. While I used to live there, this is the first time I will have negotiated a contract with this group. St. Louis is not unfamiliar territory but the union team (and ours actually) is. More importantly, I will be connecting through Atlanta on my first trip which is a bit like saying "I won't make my connection". Chicago's O'Hare was an option but that is like saying "I _know_ I won't make my connection." More to come...better not be from coach.

Chapter 6 - This Feels Familiar...

It is exactly 6:32 AM as I pull into garage E at the Philadelphia International Airport. My flight leaves in fifty-eight minutes, I have my _printed_ boarding pass and I am in first class. But something is wrong. As I take the ticket and drive in, there is no familiar clang/scratch/bang as my giant SUV hits the yellow height restriction sign. The ride up to level four (where I always park) is easy and spacious, not like the usual carnival ride created in my mind where at any moment I am sure I will get stuck or encounter a "parking enforcement officer" who will scold me for not following directions and order me to back down the spiral drive...where I will get stuck (I know if it ever happens I will make both the Philadelphia Evening News and YouTube). Despite the relative simplicity, I feel uneasy...actually I feel terrible.

The ease of parking this week can be attributed to Murphy (really to me but he gets most of the "credit"). Last week, moments after posting my blog, I ventured downstairs to see what the family was up to. I was immediately greeted with "choices". Homework help, dinner dishes or let the dogs out. I weighed the options. Lots of dishes. I hate math. I hate the dogs. I hate math more. I chose the dogs...as much as they are a pain this chore is mostly their work. Not mine. Feeling a bit benevolent I decided to allow them to accompany me around the front of the house to the side of the house where we have just put in a vegetable garden. Normally, on these brief outside breaks they are restricted to a small area in the backyard so we can limit the yard damage and because Murphy rarely makes a break for it in this part of the yard. I hurry Chase along as anytime he sees the virgin grass of the front lawn he can't help himself..."Murph" needs no prodding, he is running circles around us. He is both thrilled and stunned at this change in routine. We arrive at the side of the house and I observe weeks of hard work. My wife and I, despite having three able bodied children, have labored each weekend for the past month creating our new garden in a patch of yard that was worthless other than to grow grass...crab grass to be truthful. There in front of me stand beautiful raised beds with vegetables growing dutifully. I stand next to the beds a proud owner who is using his land to the fullest...

As I look out over our handy work, I look down to see Chase violating the law of the front yard. At this point there is nothing to do but ignore him, mentally mark the spot and move on. I look up and Murphy is nowhere to be seen. I call his name. I hear the jingle of his collar and tags in the distance, I call his name more loudly... faster jingling but farther off. I scream his name....no jingling. He is gone. I curse his name. Chase wanders over and I let him have it for creating the "diversion" for Murphy's prison break. I don't know all the different elements that make up Murphy. The vet told us he has seven "extra teeth". My wife's response: "That explains the drool". I know he is mostly chocolate lab but he must also have some "escaped felon" in him as well since he was gone in a second. This has happened before but almost never to me. I pride myself on having these two under wraps. Murphy has ruined my "Land Barron" moment.

Chaos ensues. I rush inside and summon assistance. My wife asks what happened and I unload a profanity filled diatribe while grabbing the keys to the Giant SUV. My youngest son Bennett reluctantly accepts my "invitation" to go retrieve Murphy. We race out to the Giant SUV and hop in. The garage door is closed. This is because we cannot open it from inside the garage. Actually we can, but not the ordinary way. The button appeared to develop a "short" of some sort about a month ago and used to send the door halfway up or down before sending it back the other direction. This was frustrating but with a little elbow grease (I would pound the button harder) the button eventually complied...until the one time it didn't and I applied too much elbow grease. Now, like the many things that don't work as they are supposed to in our household, we have "workarounds". In this case, we simply open the door with the opener in the car...which is exactly what I did this time. I then immediately threw the car in reverse...and heard a sound that reminded me of visits to the Philadelphia Airport. I had slammed into the opening garage door. I stopped and so did the garage door. Bennett looked at me and said nothing but his face said "And you're the guy who is going to teach me to drive?" I pulled forward and pushed the button. I held my breath but the door moved smoothly down. I pushed it again and it moved smoothly up...a minor bump in the pursuit of our escaped "canine".

The garage door "incident" took approximately two minutes...enough time for Murphy to leave the county. I put the car back in reverse and backed up swiftly, suddenly I heard that sound again but only this time it was accompanied by a horrible POP! I slammed on the breaks again. My eyes darted to the rear view mirror. Nothing. I looked at the passenger side mirror. Nothing. I looked at the drivers side mirror. Nothing. Not even a mirror. In my haste to make up the lost time, I had snapped the driver's side mirror off the Giant SUV...mostly. This thing looked like the robot humanoid from the movie Alien after he had been cut in two. It dangled helplessly from the car door hanging by a jumble of wires...green liquid seeping out. I looked at Bennett who looked away in disgust. His drivers permit was no longer a "sure thing".

I was able to semi secure the mirror back in place and we raced off again to get the escapee. The mirror did it's best to assist. I could see pavement directly below me, the backdoor and the undersides of high level tree branches directly above me since the glass had been cracked a million different ways. I could not see what might be behind me in the road. Eventually we spotted an older woman pacing the sidewalk speaking into a cell phone. She looked like she was reporting an accident or worse. It was worse...It was Murphy. This week the giant SUV goes into the shop to repair the mirror and Murphy has been given limited privileges from solitary confinement. My wife's car sits nervously waiting for me at the airport.

Those who know me know that I am a certified germophobe. It has not always been like this but once I started in this job things changed. I have contracted more airborne illnesses that I care to mention. Truthfully, my first year in the job I sat next to a woman who had a small toddler with her who probably was the original carrier of SARS. Within three hours of attempting to fend off the fever stricken, hacking toddler who was leaning on my shoulder I was fever stricken and hacking...for three weeks...over the holidays. In West Virginia I got so sick the HR manager there took me to the "Hospivet". After waiting in line behind a goat, I was given an antibiotic that had directions for humans and a set for Horses. It cured me by knocking me out for 36 hours. I got the flu so bad in Rhode Island that I was out of commission for four days. This was followed by a brief recovery and then a crash and burn pneumonia that lasted ten days. I call that illness "Rhode Island Red"...

So here I am now parking my wife's car with a fever and chills and a hacking cough courtesy of...my visiting family. I am fairly certain that there is a dominant gene in my family that allows viruses to more easily attach themselves to us and grow or even mutate. They (my family and the mutant virus) arrived last Wednesday afternoon for my oldest son Jim's graduation. I knew something wasn't quite right when I reached my sister on her cell during the drive out. She sounded...sick. I asked her directly if she was. She made the statement everyone in my family makes when confronted with this question..."Just a little and I'm getting over it." In my family that is code for "You are about to get this crummy illness I have and you should prepare for a weeks worth of misery."

After they arrived and began infecting the house, we went out to dinner. I made sure my sister (the primary carrier this time) sat as far away as possible and instead sat next to my mom...who had been sitting in the small confines of a minivan with the source of illness for the past nine hours. A petri dish had nothing on this germ filled environment. Like clock work the symptoms began:

Wednesday evening (arrival day A.K.A infection point), nothing...except fear.

Thursday morning...ever so slight tickle in the throat..."nothing to worry about."

Friday Morning, big "tickle" and "the aches".

Friday lunch, more aches and a growing need to blow my nose...constantly.

Friday night through Monday morning...Niagara nose (where you have to blow it every 30 seconds) and that telltale dry hack is in full swing. Delirium marks the best sleep attainable over these three nights.

By the end of the weekend, my nose was so sore (and swollen) that I looked more like a cat than a man with a mutated virus who was about to infect a plane full of innocent passengers.

Now it's Monday morning and I am about to be that guy you don't want next to you on a plane...I timed my medications to make sure they hit and lasted for the first leg of the flights to St. Louis. To my relief...they worked. It also appears the fever "broke" on the plane because I started sweating. I wasn't hot...just sweating. No one seemed to notice but then again no one made eye contact with me either...Luckily the guy sitting next to me had fallen asleep. Of course he had sneezed six times prior to that and had a nagging cough...My worst fears hadn't happened. I was not that miserable. Descent and landing however brought their own set of challenges. My head felt like it was about to burst on one side and my eyes felt so much pressure that I swear I must have looked like a bug eyed Marsupial. A bald one at that.

But when we landed in Atlanta I noticed a strange feeling. Nothing. I actually felt pretty good. The aches were gone. My nose had cleared even though my head had not. The flight into St. Louis was uneventful although the Marsupial impression happened again... albeit fleetingly. When I arrived at our facility I was met by our HR Director who welcomed me and shook my hand. The day flew by as we started negotiations with our sales group. I departed for my hotel and after checking in I received an email from her...she had strep throat and would be "out at least 24 hours". I wondered aloud if she was distantly related to me. This could be a long week...

Chapter 7 - Really? _Really??_

It is a late Thursday afternoon in St. Louis and I am surveying my gate area for my flight to Detroit. My flight does not leave for approximately and hour and a half so I am in search of a comfortable seat for the time being. Everything so far from the rental car return to the security checkpoint has gone smoothly and without incident. It turns out the best part of my return home is already behind me...

As I arrived in my gate area it was crowded but there were empty seats. The problem is that most people when they sit down also secure a "zone of privacy" and use their bag as a shield...taking up extra seats. I get it but once it becomes crowded it's no longer important that your bag be comfortable. I spotted an alcove that appeared to be free and from what I could see had a choice "end seat". Plenty of room for me and my bag on the outside....except when I turned the corner I noticed...toes. Yes, bare toes....connected to bare feet. A woman had taken up three seats and rendered the end seat unusable for the foreseeable future with her bare feet squirming all over it. After dodging a banana peel (yep) I found a seat across from "lounge lady" next to a sleeping man in a rocking chair. His chair was a little closer to my seat than I would have liked but this was the only easy access choice at this point. I sat down and "sleeping man" started to snore...not some occasional snort or heavy breath but a full fledged snore. The guy sounded like he was starting and stopping a chain saw. Shortly after I sat down, my phone rang and awakened "sleeping man". He turned to me with very bloodshot eyes and said "I was sleeping". He was bothered. I mouthed an apology and continued my call as quietly as possible. I finished the call and he said again, "I was _sleeping_ ". He was pretty upset. I again apologized and he said something to the effect of "a lot of good that does me now"...this did not sit well with me. I was a bit perturbed because "sleeping man" was acting like I had interrupted some important sleep study...in an airport. I wanted to respond with "I didn't know I was in the _sleeping_ section but I guess I missed the announcement since you were snoring so loudly" but about this time "lounge lady" began to clean her toes which forced me to leave the area. "Sleeping man" was soon sawing logs again.

The boarding process was painful... primarily because I was in coach. Everything is harder here. More people coming through hitting you with their oversized bags, smaller seats, still more bags and too many announcements. I surveyed my flight crew. Three female flight attendants: "Mom" who appeared to be the nurturing one, "Prison Guard" who was just looking for someone to act up and "Runway Model" who was very happy to flip her hair and walk...a lot. I found my seat, 14C and immediately noticed "Cell Phone Guy" coming down the aisle. This is the guy who is so important, he cannot get off of any call for any reason....even if it slows everyone else down during boarding. I watched as he struggled to maintain a conversation and attempt to load his bag in the bin with one hand. I overheard portions of his conversation: lots of "right, right...sunny here too", etc. The things "crisis solvers" deal with on a daily basis. "Prison Guard" intervened and though annoyed, he hurried things along. As soon as he was in his seat he was back on the cell phone updating some poor soul about his flight status, the weather or how many people he had updated already.

About this time "The Organizer" arrived. This is the guy who is unable to fit his bag in the bin directly above his seat (even though there are spaces just a row or two away) and so he begins the process of moving everyone else's things around. He discovered a laptop bag that bothered him as he announced out loud "This should go below the seat in front of the owner". He began to announce more loudly that "someone needs to claim this bag" so he could fit his bag in that exact spot...he was scary so no one bucked up...except for "Prison Guard". She was right next to me and started to coax him along to hurry up as he had stopped the boarding process in its' tracks. After a second request went unheeded she widened her stance (pushing up against my shoulder) and started to let "The Organizer" have it. He returned fire and for a second it started to get ugly. I was in the middle of it...whether I wanted to be or not. Suddenly "Runway model" appeared and seemed to have "The Organizer's" number and in a calm relaxing tone offered to help. He was putty in her hands and a crisis was averted. His bag was three rows away.

Shortly after "The Organizer" sat down "Living Room Guy" came on board and his seat was right in front of mine. This is the guy who comes on board and begins to unpack half his house for the flight....no matter how long or short (one hour and six minutes to Detroit by the way) the flight might be. Before he sat down he unloaded his head phones, two newspapers, a book and I think a picnic basket. He also had one of those giant neon neck things to help prop your head up when you fall asleep. Five minutes later the boarding process began again.

The middle seat next to me was open and I knew it would be filled. Sure enough, just as I looked over at the seat I heard a voice in the distance say "I'm in there". I looked over and was looking at two knees. "Beanpole" had arrived and he was tall...like six ten tall. I got up and let him in. He did not fit. His head was dangerously close to the vents and lights overhead. One turbulent bump and he might hit them. He sighed and said he could "do anything for two hours". I liked his attitude but not his take on how long the trip would be. Everyone was now in their seats and "Runway Model" was doing what she does best...walking up and down the aisle, flicking her hair. "Cell Phone Guy" was on his third call since he sat down alerting someone about his arrival time. "Prison Guard" publicly shut him down. "Mom" was telling us how to get off the plane in an emergency.

As luck would have it I fell asleep for the first half of the flight. So did "Cell Phone Guy" and "Beanpole". "Beanpole" however must have dreamt he got sucked out the window exit because he twitched and flailed like he was falling without a parachute and jammed his elbow into my left kidney. I awakened with a jolt of pain that careened through my kidney into my right knee...I had become part of a chain reaction... and jammed my knee into "Living Room Guy's" seat. This jolted him forward however the neon neck thing seemed to insulate him...he did not awaken but he dropped one of his papers. "Mom" whisked in and placed it in his seat pocket.

"Beanpole" was still connected to my kidney so I leaned out into the aisle to gain some extra room. The problem was "Runway Model" was in full fashion week mode and made countless trips back and forth...always carrying nothing but requiring me to dodge her each time. Behind me the guy was using my seat as a bit of a crutch each time he had to get out of his seat...which was a lot. Each time he did this my neck was jarred...just a bit. I began to wonder if these "mini whiplashes" could be like concussions and eventually compound and become severe. I wished I had a neon neck thing. We began our descent and "Prison Guard" began ordering everyone "to power off their electronic devices". Mine wasn't on but I pretended to shut it off anyway to avoid her wrath.

We landed in Detroit but it appeared to be more like Toledo which is forty-five minutes away. I say this because we taxied for about...forty-five minutes. Not a big deal, I had plenty of time until my next flight but "Cell Phone Guy" was now running through his contact list letting everyone know that he had "landed in Detroit". "Beanpole" told me his two hours were nearly up. We finally reached the gate and we began to de-plane...except "Living Room Guy" who just sat there. When it was time for him to "move" he finally began to pack his belongings. He took twice as long as when he boarded. On his way out "The Organizer" struck up a casual conversation with "Runway Model". "Living Room Guy" was still double checking that he had everything. "Mom" asked me how my flight was and I said "I'll tell you when it ends". "The Organizer" continued to chat. "Prison Guard" was raking some guy from the "in-flight food service" over the coals...something about "an ice shortage" and "mom" just smiled.

In the terminal I chocked down some bad pizza with garlic in the crust or more accurately, with crust in the garlic and searched for my next flight...and something to kill the garlic taste. I located a $4 soda and discovered my flight was "a bit delayed". It was supposed to leave at 10:20 PM but was now "scheduled" for 11:50 PM. It was 9:30 PM...I began the internal debate with myself... Do I gamble and hang in there only to have them cancel it after midnight, ensuring a night's sleep in the gate area or do I get re-booked and find a hotel. Either way it was going to be a Friday arrival. I have the ability to kill two hours this way...I rallied and checked with the gate agent... she told me the plane was coming in from "LaGuardia" and gave me that look most "frequent flyers" know. LaGuardia is where flights go to die. There were still seats available early Friday so I opted for the early flight. A sitting man who had been reading a magazine stopped me and asked me what I had been doing up at the gate. I explained the situation and added "Oh and if the flight does get here...the crew will time out and it won't go anyway". The man bolted out of his seat and raced towards the gate. A number of my now "former" fellow passengers noticed and also raced towards the gate agent. It looked like the scene in _It's a Wonderful Life_ when there is a run on the bank. Having left the group in disarray I walked towards the airport hotel...without a reservation.

I walked through the terminal convincing myself that this was a "huge" hotel and there would be plenty of room. I was right. There was plenty of room... for the banquet attendees. When I entered the lobby the hotel staff was breaking down tables and chairs...lots of them. Apparently some company had decided the Airport hotel would be their "perfect venue"... even if it didn't have windows in the lobby. The front desk attendant told me "You are in luck...we have one room remaining". She then quoted me a rate that was higher than my first mortgage payment. I explained that since I was married I would be "willing to waive the "companionship option" that must be part of the room for a price that high" and asked for a lower rate. She didn't laugh. I swiftly excused myself in a huff, showed her my hotel chain's "Incredibly Super Elite You Cannot Believe It" card and in front of her called to see if I could find an area hotel close enough that I didn't need to get a rental car. No luck...weather on the east coast had caused many flights to be canceled and the closest hotel was over thirty minutes away...assuming I could get a rental car. With the bitter taste of defeat in my mouth, or perhaps just garlic, I slinked back to the clerk and asked if the room was still available. It was and I took it. Turns out the room was a suite...which was great because I always like to have a suite for an eight hour "stay"...without my family. For the record I sat in every chair, opened every drawer, turned on both TV's and left every light on when I left...to "get my money's worth". I also made it cold enough to snow...

The flight the next day was uneventful, my wife's car was still waiting for me and traffic was light. I made it home twenty one hours after I started. The giant SUV was home sporting a brand new $750 driver's side mirror. I was comforted by the fact that Murphy was now halfway to his lifetime "maximum" spending benefit. Even better...I would get to do this all over again in less than seventy-two hours....

Chapter 8 - "One of Those Weeks..."

"Games People Play..."

It is early on a Wednesday night in St. Louis and I am bored. The local management team and I have just finished three days of lengthy negotiations and have devoted the next day to get ready for the next round in early July. My flights tomorrow will take me on the same itinerary that landed me an unplanned night in Detroit the previous week and I am in need of a diversion. I check off the standard items...TV, surf the net, dinner...none of them will fill the next three hours. But one thing will. The local casino down the street...

I arrive at the casino on foot as it was both relatively close (less than a mile) and it was not a typical summer "sauna" night in St. Louis. The lobby is "grand", bright and...loud. Ringing, jingling and buzzing sounds are coming from everywhere. I head off in search of my slot machine goldmine... with a budget. I have "contracted" with my wife that I will lose "no more than forty dollars." Around me are countless machines clanging away with screens and lights ablaze. I see all kinds of money removers...some slots, some Keno and some that make no sense to me at all but seem to be very popular with "the regulars". I say "regulars" because they blend in...unlike me. Between my button down dress shirt and stunned expression, I must look like an easy target. If gaming establishments were hunters I would have already absorbed a "kill shot". Who knew oversized t-shirts with expressions like _"Poker players do it on tables"_ or _"I ain't handsome but at least I ain't you"_ were the appropriate dress code. On the bright side, I now have a Father's Day gift request...

I find my "goldmine". A "progressive" slot machine that will pay me over $250,000 if I hit an impossible combination of "3xwinner, 4xwinner, 5x winner" and some sort of fruit item... all in a multi-level sequence. I'm in! The real reason I am here is one: to "kill some time" and two: to recreate my casino glory from five years ago. Back then I was in a similar situation, waiting for a co-worker to arrive so we could do some "prep" work before our negotiation the next morning. He called to inform me he was running late...by about three and a half hours. I asked him what I should do while I waited for him to arrive. He told me to "have fun, relax, and enjoy the town." I was in Mt. Pleasant Michigan.

Being resourceful, I found a casino and walked in with no other intention than to "waste an hour or so". I sat down at the first quarter slot machine I could find and gave it twenty dollars. It registered eighty quarters. An hour later I still had roughly eighty quarters and I was bored to tears. I was doing more people watching than watching the screen but I kept pressing the button in hopes it would eat my money and release me from "slot machine prison". In truth, I did not want to "cash out" and walk up to a cashier with a "thirsty-two" ounce cup filled with quarters. I continued my routine when all of a sudden the machine jumped to life. It light up like it was on fire, the quarter counter started rolling up...and up and up! It passed one thousand quarters and I began to get dizzy. It was playing a computerized tune of "Happy Day's Are Here Again" and it kept adding quarters to my count. It stopped at twenty five hundred and the machine locked up...except it kept playing the maddening tune. I was both excited and horrified. My first thought was "What the hell am I going to do with twenty five hundred quarters". My second thought was "How many thirsty-two ounce cups will I need to carry all these quarters". My third thought was "How much money did I win?" I could not do the math to save my life. Eventually I was rescued by a casino employee who "cleared the machine" and handed me six hundred and twenty-five dollars in cash. I was shocked and a little embarrassed, but I got over that. Now, five (maybe six) years later I am back in a casino for the first time to reclaim my title as "most clueless winner". It doesn't go well.

I put in my forty dollars and get ready to roll in the money. Ten minutes later I am at an ATM machine to get some more cash. I am successful at getting money out of this machine but it does not feel like winning. After developing a "fire throat" from the combination of pumped in oxygen and unfiltered cigarettes all around me and after losing a total of $99, I deem the night a partial "success"...I have wasted three hours (although perhaps cutting off a year or two of life expectancy in the process). I may also have lost something else...the ability to complain about any of my wife's purchases for the next few weeks.

"Can We Do This Some Other Time?"

My flights from St. Louis and Detroit are much more successful than the previous week. So "successful" that I arrive in Philadelphia on time, which is just after midnight, in a rainstorm with a ninety minute drive ahead of me. I find my wife's car (the giant SUV is repaired but I decide I like the smaller car these days and we make a temporary switch). I turn on the ignition and...the car starts immediately. The message on the navigation screen shows "Buckingham"...the name I have given the car...it is a Wisconsin thing (my wife has also named it but since I am driving it and the seat is in my position it thinks it is "Buckingham"). There is a yellow light on the dash that has a weird symbol and an exclamation point. It has my attention even though I don't know what it means but it is late, so I start to back out. As I do so, the screen flashes me a brief message: "check tire pressure". This is not good but at least I know what the yellow light means now..."your trip home may be really crappy". I stop the car and get out to look at the tires. They all look fine. I use the computer screen to check the tire pressure and discover the right front one only has 25 PSI while the others all have 32 PSI. I don't know what PSI stands for but right now it seems to stand for "Pretty S**tty Information". Having no way to "fix" this problem, I make a run for it. I drive the car home while constantly checking the tire pressure (which actually starts to go up) and imagining that the car is "pulling harder to the right than it should". Each pothole spells potential doom and every turn feels like the moment before the "blowout". I conclude the rain soaked drive home and pry my white knuckles off the steering wheel. It is 1:58 AM. I look at the tire again. It couldn't look more like a healthy tire if it tried. I kick it in protest and head inside to go to bed. Chase and Murphy do not even move...still on "full alert" as always.

Over the weekend the light comes back on so I fill the tire back up to its "normal level". I have to drive to upstate New York for a negotiation and given "Buckingham's" tire issue I reclaim the giant SUV. I am happy and so is my wife...until 6PM Monday evening when she announces that "the damn car is about to have a flat". I ask what the PSI number is. She tells me it is now at 20. She asks what PSI stands for and I tell her. She agrees.

"Welcome...Sorry You Can't Stay Longer"

After telling my wife she "should take better care of her car", I depart for dinner. I find a local place that could be a chain but probably isn't. I am greeted by a "Hostress"...she is doing double duty and appears to be "rushed". Before we reach the table she asks what I'd like to drink. I order iced tea and as I sit down, before I have the menu, she asks what I'd like to eat. I give her a blank stare and she returns it. I tell her I am not that hungry but probably should look at the menu. She suggests Calamari. I'm no fisherman but I know the stuff doesn't live ninety minutes west of Albany. I don't respond, she says they have "really good flat bread pizzas" and stands waiting for my answer. The menu is in her hands. Taking the cue, I order the flat bread pizza and start to go through the file of work I brought with me. I never touched the menu. Moments later an iced tea slides across the table as "speed racer" cruises past. About ten minutes later a flat bread pizza arrives. It is half cheese (white-ish) and half tomato-ish sauce. I thank her but she is gone. I start to separate a couple of pieces but the pizza is hot...a good sign. I wait a couple of minutes and start on the cheese side. "Speedy" was right...they are pretty good.

I switch to the tomato side and take a bite. In a split second the tomato sauce and crust affix themselves to the roof of my mouth in a vacuum suction move that could not be replicated if I tried. The sauce is about 350 degrees and feels like what I imagine molten lava would...if you were dumb enough to eat it. I flail my head repeatedly like a hooked marlin at sea in an attempt to dislodge the scalding flat bread. My mind flashes back to late nights in college when after a night of "adult beverages" the pizza arrives and despite having done this a dozen (okay a hundred) times, I would bite into the crust and experience this same feeling. I grab the iced tea and gulp trying to extinguish the flames with no success. I finally resort to using my hands which results in both flat bread pizza and iced tea going...kind of everywhere. While I am "mopping up" the check flies in from the sky signaling "the end of the dining experience". The "Hostress" is oblivious that I might need medical attention.

"A Room with a View..."

After injuring myself at dinner I return to my hotel to recover and turn in for the night. When I checked in I did not notice the view afforded me by my room location. Sporting a swollen mouth that will most likely result in a two day speech impediment, I open the curtains to take in the sights. I was looking at an abandoned warehouse with un-mowed grass and perhaps a pack of wild dogs...a "perfect" ending to a "perfect" week.

Chapter 9 -Out of Office Reply...And a Close Call.

I am on vacation this week. Actually, I am on "stay-cation" this week and it does not really feel like a vacation at all. First of all I am not a fan of the term "stay-cation" because it is a made up word...and because it means I stayed home for vacation. We had options but after looking at our bank balance (or lack thereof) and the tuition bills for college (our oldest child starts this fall...our money is already "enrolled") we opted for the "stay-cation". We even tried to say it a few times to "get into" it but it bothered our children. It bothered us more.

It started out fine...except for a near miss on Friday. We slept in Saturday and had a productive and relaxing day. After some much needed yard work, it is looking much better and we also managed to spend time at the pool...no one was injured in either task. Sunday found us doing more yard work, wondering where the spectacular view had gone (we never had one) and I was starting to think about work...

Monday morning I got up early and fired up my computer...to turn on my "Out of Office Assistant". I made it clear and succinct. "I am on vacation...won't be available and won't call you back if you call me." By 11:00 am I had checked email and had spoken with my boss...who scolded me for "calling in on vacation". There is a distinct problem with "vacationing" at home...home is home _and_ it is my office. Neither screams "vacation". The other issue is that totally worthless "Out of Office Assistant". There is a strange phenomenon that takes place when people see "The Assistant" is on. For some reason (I admit I am guilty of this myself) people don't believe you actually took vacation or they take it as a challenge and continue to send emails... they may even call...if you answer you get the "I thought you were on vacation line" that ultimately leads to the cycle I call "the competition to ruin vacation". Once someone sidesteps "The Assistant" the victim makes a subconscious decision to "return the favor". It appears I have victimized a lot of my co-workers over the years....

Technology is great (if you know how to use it) but it can trap you as well...I am trapped. I was having a tough time switching gears. I tried golf on Monday afternoon but the pace was so slow I found myself checking and answering emails on the Blackberry. Tuesday, I escaped with my wife for the day to run errands without the kids but kept wondering how the email pile was growing. I left the Blackberry at home and dressed like I was "on vacation" minus the camera. We went to a bookstore and one of the more senior employees gave me that look of "things will get better". Turns out I was standing by "Power Resumes" and she thought I was on an "extended vacation". I thought that perhaps in a strange way I had turned a corner on this "stay-cation". When I tried to explain she made me follow her to the "Psychology" section and handed me a book about "denial", another about "expressing feelings" and a third about "letting go of the past". When I asked for an application she told me to play the lottery because the odds of that turning out well were better. Taking her lead, I decided to make Wednesday a "work" day so I could clear the rest of the week. I do have some peace of mind knowing that I treat most work days as vacation...

The Near Miss... (Which really should be called "the near hit" but I digress).

Late Friday afternoon my wife left me home unattended and the "Invisible Prison for Dogs" guy knocked on the door. Seems he was making a few "cold calls" in the neighborhood and found me. I am guessing he had scouted our house for a few days and after seeing Chase and Murphy knew he had a "sale pending". When I saw him my eyes lit up. I have often wondered what Murphy would do inside an electric barrier that shocked potential escapees...I wondered about this so often that I knew I would be willing to pay money to see the result. I greeted him like the Publishers Clearing House Prize Patrol Guy.

After about thirty minutes of him explaining the "training period" I was sold. I was actually sold when I heard the collar had multiple adjustments of varying levels but "none that will harm the dog...but some that will shock him silly". The visions of Murphy "testing" the barrier were almost too much for me. He then announced they had an indoor "mobile" device that could ensure Murphy would not go anywhere in the house we did not want him to...this was too much, fighting back tears of joy I actually bent down and attempted to pat Murphy's head....sort of an acknowledgement that he was defeated and he had put up a good fight. As he does, he ducked and moved a bit... I missed and touched his mouth. I was covered in his toxic drool. I didn't care. "Shock therapy" would solve this...I was sure. After shaking my non-infected hand the salesman left with a bewildered look as I continued to laugh uncontrollably while staring at "Murph". Incarceration was scheduled for the following Friday.

Sue arrived home about twenty minutes later and I delivered the good news. "Murph" was about to be set free...in prison! She asked me what prison for dogs costs and I told her..."about what we are saving by not going on vacation." She then did what she always does...she defeated me with logic. I wasn't buying either the economic or the "humanitarian" arguments at all. What got me was the fact that "Murph" and Chase would have "full access" to both the back _and_ the front yard. Chase, who looks a bit like The Cowardly Lion, does not really need the prison because anytime he "wanders" it is only a few feet from the yard and then he turns around and looks at us like he is lost and cries for help. There is a reason we call him "Big Baby". Unless Murphy is around he won't go more than five feet from Sue at any given minute. If she is inside and he is outside, he sits and cries at the door. Reverse the circumstance and he cries until he gets let out.... but Chase will follow Murphy. If Chase is The Cowardly Lion, "Murph" is one of those flying Monkeys...he will bolt whenever the "guards" a.k.a. our children become distracted and look away. My wife explained that "once he figures out he has access to the front yard he will make it his new home".

Sue saw she had me on the ropes and went in for the final uppercut. She started to explain how often they would be in the front yard, what it might look like and how dangerous the simple act of walking out there might be. I sat down in stunned silence. She was right.

The thought of those two holding multiple "business meetings" out front every day was the straw that broke the prison order. Murphy would have to be happy with supervised recreation time and I had a call to make...after I answered a few emails.

Chapter 10 - Traditions...

It's the morning of the fourth of July and the wind is whipping through my hair (okay, over my scalp) as I ride my bike down the main boulevard in our town. My wife is just ahead of me and we are headed to a parade party for breakfast and a front row seat...it is going to be a great day...

To say the parade is a popular event where I live is an understatement. (I truly believe the anti-communist movement probably started here...people who failed to attend the parade were labeled communists and then they moved to Wisconsin). In our town, the fourth of July parade is a way of life. Up until now...we have barely been living. But this year we have front row seats, food, beverages and a bathroom all at our disposal. And...our kids are all still asleep. We don't care. Sure we were probably invited because we have daughters of similar age and it "will be fun for the kids" but we have just finished a semi-satisfying (mostly not) stay-cation and we are in...kids or not. (Our daughter Megan arrived later with a bit of a furrowed brow).

We arrive on our bikes and are greeted like heroes. We have added to the Norman Rockwell moment! I am pleased at both the greeting as well as the way I feel. The ride was a piece of cake...which is good, because I've had too much "cake" lately and wasn't sure this was the best idea.

The pre-parade was great fun and the streets of our town were buzzing. The parade got underway and the real fun started...except for one family. They signed up to have their son in the "motorized" toy section of the parade...which means little electric car things. I am sure this idea was hatched at last year's parade when they probably felt a bit like "bad" parents because their child was not "in" the parade even though he had transportation. Not this year...he quickly became the center of attention.

A number of issues quickly surfaced:

First, their son was a year older and now a year bigger...he did not totally fit in the "car"/"fire truck".

Second, he did not know how to drive....can't be any clearer than that.

Third, even if he had known how to drive, the front wheels were so badly out of alignment (I am guessing he has hit more than his share curbs in his limited driving experience) that even a skilled driver would have struggled with this "vehicle".

The oversized fireman's hat was a cute idea but terrible execution as it kept blocking his face forcing him to remove a hand from the steering wheel and adjust his lid.

To say that the crowd was in more danger with this tiny "fire truck" compared to the giant, real life ladder truck that would later pass by would be totally correct. Each time the kid hit the gas, the car lurched swiftly toward the crowd giving him whiplash...at the same time the "little guy" was getting a bit confused between his right and his left. Kids sitting on the curb began to scatter and his horrified parents, seeing themselves in tomorrow's paper (or worse) began to "helicopter" over him in an attempt to "teach" him how to drive. It wasn't working. He was however, becoming a much bigger hit than the apparently canceled clown section of the parade which had always gotten mixed reviews and led to many a children's nightmare. Progress was measured in inches and parental blood pressure was measured in shades of red. They had at least another mile to go...

After the parade we headed a few blocks away to a town park where they set up games and sell food. They also have a pie eating contest. After wandering a bit we settled in to see what the pie eating contest was all about. In essence, it is about who can eat the "pie" the fastest without using their hands (or utensils). I say "pie" because it really is simply a congealed mess. It starts with a very fragile looking crust, gets filled with a gelatinous cherry filling that, based on its color and consistency, appears to have at least some anti-freeze in it. It is topped off with enough canned whipped cream to blow another hole in the ozone layer.

My wife looked at me and said she needed to sit down and scurried away. Still mesmerized by the "pies" it took me a minute to realize she wasn't feeling well. It may have been the heat, it may have been all the excitement but I am guessing it was the "pies". I found her sitting on some stairs and asked her how she was feeling. She turned to me and answered "fine". She had a greenish hue about her. I told her I would go get the car and she responded with "good idea". I was now becoming more concerned. I apologized to our "hosts" and "bolted" home to get the car. Home was just over two miles away and running home was not an option...not if I wanted to get there. Instead I walked (briskly) back to our host's house and grabbed my bike. A minute in I realized why the ride over had been so easy...it was mostly downhill. Now, here I was trying to make time...going uphill. The burn in the legs began almost immediately. The ratio of leg burn to the decline in bike speed is remarkable. An older couple passed me...on foot. I was concerned the fire truck kid would too which is what kept me moving.

I arrived home and with weakened legs walked into the house like a drunken sailor using walls as props as I moved. Our youngest son, Bennett was awake and informed me that "Murphy ate dinner". While trying to grab the keys, text my wife to check on her condition and grab a cold drink I did not really grasp what he said. As I stumbled around trying to be efficient I asked him why he fed him dinner before noon. His response: "I didn't...he ate _our_ dinner." I stopped in my tracks. At least a pound of thawing ground beef was missing or maimed. Murphy was locked in his cage...punishment dished out by Bennett. He licked his chops and looked at me with a defiant stare that seemed to say "what are you going to do about it in your weakened state?" Having no time for what might be his last "terminable" offense I left the house to pick up my wife. I looked back at Murphy and gave him the "I've got my eye on you finger point". He burped.

I raced back to the park feeling sorry for my sick wife. She and Megan sauntered up to the car, laughing and enjoying the festivities. She appeared fine. Megan had some item in her hand that contained ninety percent sugar. Sue apologized for worrying me. I informed her that I was on a steady unplanned "workout decline" and would not be responsible for any Murphy duties. I then informed her that he had eaten dinner...after I corrected the now common misconception that he had eaten his dinner instead of our dinner she started fuming. Murphy's second strongest ally was ticked. (Bennett is the number one fan). Normally this would not be a problem but this was July fourth...in our town, the stores close...otherwise you might be labeled a communist.

Murphy remained in "solitary" for a good portion of the day and did not seem to enjoy his dinner of water and one piece of dried food. My wife was getting "even".

After enjoying a festive dinner of leftovers our oldest son left and shortly returned from an "errand". He and a friend had gone shopping for...fireworks. I implored him to be careful and then reviewed the loot. Let's just say they don't make them like when we were kids. Most of these things looked like military castoffs. He asked if I'd like to help "launch" them. I wanted to but had other plans...sleep. Two weeks earlier I scheduled my flight back to St. Louis for 6:10 AM out of Philadelphia.

I was pleased that despite it being light outside I fell asleep quickly. There was just one problem...it was the Fourth of July. Sometime after nightfall, neighbors with similar loot to what my son and his friend had picked up began lighting them. Devices popped, exploded, whistled and screamed. Deep slumber turned to fitful tossing and turning. With each new explosion I was startled awake. I twitched more than the fire truck kid. Sometime after midnight I fell asleep. REM sleep kicked in about the time the calypso band started playing...at 3:15 AM. It was time for another trip...

Chapter 11 - Getting There Is Half the Fun...

It is 10:15 PM in St. Louis as I lay my head down on the pillow. I am in search of a good night's sleep...the day has been spent traveling and like a strange dream, I replay it in my head...backwards. But sleep will not be easy this evening...

My arrival at the hotel (the same hotel I have been to four of the past six weeks) is unremarkable. Apparently so am I. As I approach the check-in/reception I am greeted like every other customer...not like one who was here a mere seventy two hours ago. The attendant checks me in, acknowledges my "status" and proceeds to go through the standard "directions" regarding parking, the club lounge and explains where the elevators are located. All terrific bits of information for a "rookie" but not for someone like me. It simply takes up time and I am not listening anyway. The mouth is going but I hear nothing. I nod, take my room key (and excess instructions) and walk gingerly to the elevators...she is still talking when I leave.

I know this hotel (too well) but they don't know me. I understand how this happens actually but...if I know that the door on the 19th floor slams way too loudly when using the stairs to get to the club lounge on the 18th floor or that if you attempt to have breakfast in the club lounge after 7 AM you had better plan on fighting people for a seat, any remaining fruit (usually the green melon no one wants to acknowledge or the diseased grapes) and count on getting your hand sprayed with the last remaining non-decaf coffee from the push down dispenser...(not enough for a cup but plenty for a scald), and that you have to write the parking pass number on the _front_ of the parking structure ticket or risk getting "a piece of Helen's mind"... I would hope they would recognize me...not so.

As I drive to the hotel in the rental car the local radio station advertises its "stay-cation" contest. I change the channel. The car is equipped with satellite radio but it is not activated. I always find this disappointing...like getting socks for Christmas. The car's "external temperature" gauge climbs steadily from 98 to 103. When I exit the car in the parking structure it feels like a furnace...or St. Louis.

Waiting for the rental car takes longer than usual which can be annoying but today is distressing. It is HOT. My wife and I used to live in St. Louis, two of our three children were born here and it is a very under rated city. Seriously, St. Louis is really nice and has a ton of things to do. I rank it up there with Boston and D.C. but...it is also the hottest place we have ever lived. How hot? Next to the doors of Hell hot...not that we lived there.

The flight in from Memphis was a "treat". It took place on a regional jet...an older one. This means no first class. Instead I am in what I call "low class". The seats are small. Many of them will not stay in the "upright position". On my side of the plane the inner skin or "wallpaper" appears to have come off (my imagination runs wild as to how this happened...I keep going back to images of an airplane "convertible") and has been replaced with something that does not match and allows you to see some of the structural elements of the plane...all of the window shades are closed because Memphis is "on fire"...93 degrees when we landed. Closing the shades is a good idea because it helps the air conditioning work to cool the plane...as long as the air conditioning is working.

In flight the A/C "kicks in"...my vent works overtime to "cool" my left shoulder. It cannot be adjusted to change the direction but it does not matter. In order to feel any air coming out, you need to have your hand right at the vent, hold you breath and ask everyone to be quiet...only then you can almost feel some air. So it stays hot but seems worse because no one has opened their window shades. I am essentially inside a sensory deprivation chamber designed to move rapidly, twist in a turning motion and provide random jarring bumps...all while being very noisy. No better vomit making machine has ever been created. This is a Disney ride gone bad. I should know. Jim, our oldest son and I (he was about 6 at the time) went on Disney's "Body Wars". The ride's premise is that you are shrunken down inside a "space ship" and must go inside a person and kill the disease in them. Between the twisting "ship" and the screen images that are far less stable than the worst home video... suffice to say...it would have helped if they had provided "ride sickness bags". The "Regional Jet ride" comes in a close second...except "Body Wars" had A/C. Mercifully a man opens his shade...three rows ahead of me. I focus on the occasional glimpse of the outer world and the flight eventually ends...so does the last of the A/C. Looking on the bright side... this must be a good way to release toxins through the pores because everyone is doing this.

My Flight from Philadelphia is uneventful although my back has a hard time "relaxing" and requires me to sit in a more upright position than normal. The ride is smooth and I lean forward to look out the window. The guy in front jars his seat back and narrowly misses my chin. I avoid a knock out only by jolting backwards. My back screams ...I want to.

After hobbling through security and through the terminal...hunched over like a man twice my age, I go to hand the gate agent my boarding pass in Philadelphia. I get ready for the battle over the pink tags for the carry on bags. To my surprise (and relief) he has them and the entire boarding process goes smoothly. The week before, a different gate agent had claimed they "no longer" used the pink tags and told me "The bags will fit on the plane". I protested, after all this is a regional jet...they barely hold people... but was quickly dismissed. Upon my arrival in the Regional Jet the flight attendant greeted me with a wagging finger and informed me I needed "to go back up there and get a pink tag...those bags don't fit on these planes". I tried to explain but she cut me off and gave me the look that said "rookie flyer...I know better than you." This did not sit well with me...for the entire flight. After another twenty-five to thirty people went through the same problem she started to "get it". Everybody was given pink tags after the flight attendants had to debate for twenty minutes with the gate agent. The flight attendant who scolded me upon arrival never acknowledged or apologized to me...and I let her know it on the way out. She started to protest and this time I wagged my finger, tossed around my "elite" status and finished her off with a "flight attendant in a regional jet" status comment and departed..."victorious". I later calmed down and felt bad about this. Not as much for her (but yes somewhat) but even more so for the remaining passengers who would deal with her that day...in all likelihood I had lit the fuse on a time bomb. Happily, this time I had my pink tag and was not presented with any confrontational opportunities...

The night before my flight I was actually sleeping really well until somewhere around 2AM when I find myself sitting straight up in bed because we are being broken into. The banging, clanging and thumping can only be a burglar. What else could possibly make that noise except a dryer full of shoes...on the high spin cycle? Oh yes, that's right...it could be Chase. Chase is our giant Golden Retriever and he is a handsome fellow. Dumb as a stump but a great looking dog. He also has a particularly annoying "defect". When he dreams...he moves. Not like the slight paw twitch or mostly muffled bark. No, when he dreams he will go into a full gallop (while lying on his side). When he was a giant puppy he used to take out end tables, kitchen chairs, even a small child if they weren't paying attention. He also always seems to dream at the most inopportune times. It almost never fails that he does this in the suspenseful part of the movie, slamming his legs into the coffee table or couch sending all of us out of our seats. Tonight he apparently has positioned himself near the closet door in the mudroom. My version of sleep Apnea...

It's the Sunday afternoon before my trip and Bennett and I are playing Golf. He has really started to come along and now we are pretty even in terms of our scores. His potential is much better than mine. We are on the eighth hole and have driven our tee shots pretty close to each other and are both about 110 yards out from the hole. Mine however is in the rough. It's a relatively simple shot and I hit it well...it is a bit of a blind shot though but I know it is headed toward the green. This is the reaction I have in the first millisecond after hitting the shot. The second reaction is "why does it hurt to breathe so much and I don't think I have any toes on my left foot". I have thrown out my lower back and it's for real. I hobble over to the cart and announce that "I am done". Bennett's response: "I could tell". I asked if my swing was different and he says "it is always different". We stop talking. We finish the eighth (he brings me my ball) and he nearly gets a hole in one on the ninth. After that, my back and I go home. I can't wait to fly.

10:20 PM in St. Louis and my back is screaming. I have forgotten to dose up on Advil which made the trip today "bearable". I limp over and "drug up" I then settle down for the sound nights sleep every traveler deserves. About 1:00 AM I hear Chase. But it is not Chase. I grab an extra pillow and put it over my head. I have discovered something else about "my" hotel. It has thin walls...

Chapter 12 - Time Really Flies...

Ok, I admit it. I skipped the Blog last week. I was on "vacation"...actually I was headed to Wisconsin in the Giant SUV with my family to take our oldest son, Jim to his College orientation in Madison. But I did not do the Blog because work, life and a complete lack of an interesting story prevented me from Blogging. So I apologize to my loyal readers. Both of you. The past two weeks have flown by just like the past eighteen years...showing me I need to kick a few things into a new gear and that I better start paying more attention...

Prior to the trip to Madison (2209 miles by the way... round trip) I returned from St. Louis on the previous Friday. In case you haven't noticed, I am spending a lot of time in St. Louis. I'd love to tell you about the horrible trip or the missed flight but...that didn't happen. This has actually been a bit of a problem for me...things have been pretty smooth. Good for travel. Bad for blogs. There, I did it. I am now jinxed.

Sunday morning we loaded up the giant SUV and headed to Wisconsin via Michigan to visit my virus carrying family. Fortunately, it appeared most illnesses were dormant. We hit Madison on Monday and it began to get hot. Really hot. Jim who saw the campus last year in July rolled his eyes at me yet again when I tried to explain that Madison is the third polar ice cap. It was 95 degrees at the time. The orientation sessions were very well organized and motivating. Discussions ranged from how to make a big university "small" to how much an underage drinking ticket will cost... $263.08 by the way. I logged this in my mind in case I get a monetary request for this amount. Then they did something really interesting. They separated parents and students. The students were taken away to bond, learn more about how they would register for class the next day and to have some time away from their parents. Most of the students were thrilled. Most of the parents were horrified. It is at functions like this that you get to see how different parents really are...we were bused to an art museum with a lecture hall where we were shown a video of our student guides and how they had grown from little babies into great young adult Badgers. I don't remember the song but it was heartbreaking. There were few dry eyes in the room but there were a couple. Mine. Oh sure I was touched and it made me think back to how fast the past eighteen years had gone by and I was feeling torn with both sadness and excitement for Jim. But...I am trained to be skeptical and instead of thinking this was simply a little reality check from The University of Wisconsin, I saw this as a tuition hike announcement waiting in the wings! Make them tear up, break them down, show how great it is to be a Badger and then BAM! "Forgot to tell you the state budget came up a little short and we need an extra X%...we accept cash, check, money order or credit. Envelopes are being passed out now..." It never happened. I keep checking the mail.

At the session they asked any if any parents who had been through this transition with older children had any advice. A number raised their hands but in what can only be described as an unfortunate set of circumstances, the moderator picked a woman who proceeded to tell a story where her daughter had lost her phone for a few hours. They could not reach her and feared the worst. She told of the "horror" of not knowing where she was and how every parent should get at least fifteen phone numbers of other kids in the dorms, update this contact list every week as their friends change and potentially get the child a second phone just in case. The moderator was horrified as the hysterical standing woman then began to cry at the end of the story. I debated suggesting she simply move in with her daughter but the tears helped my internal filter to kick in...When we left to reconvene with our children I saw at least three parents accost children they had never met for phone numbers...Jim will not be getting a second phone.

The next day was registration and Sue went to this portion while I entertained Bennett and Megan. We went golfing. It was 98 degrees. Megan doesn't golf. She is eleven. After she turned down a few chances to putt I decided to let her drive so she would stop asking us to quit...in the middle of our backswings. She ended up being a pretty good driver even if some wetlands are worse for the wear.

While we basked in the glory of a Wisconsin heat wave, Sue and Jim registered for classes. According to Sue, many parents had to be forcibly removed from the process as the kids had to register for classes on their own...with counselors of course. During a "parents only" session a couple of parents became irate over the process and it got pretty heated. It wasn't that their children weren't able to get classes it was that the parents were not part of it...according to my wife the graduate student moderator handled things quickly and sternly letting the parents know that their children were going to be on their own starting on August 30th. More tears ensued. Jim by the way was able to get all of his classes and we were happy to let him do this on his own...because that is Jim...he requested to be allowed to move out of the home at age five. He promised to visit on weekends.

After an evening reconnecting with a couple of college friends and their families who now live full time in Madison for a two hour happy hour and then a celebratory family only dinner, we headed back to Ann Arbor on Thursday. The heat wave was still growing and spreading...it was headed to Michigan. In Chicago the Giant SUV's outside temperature gauge read 108 degrees. I was concerned about an engine overheating but the Giant SUV trucked along flawlessly...at 15 miles an hour. Chicago has traffic 24/7 and it felt like that Thursday. When we arrived back in Michigan it was actually a bit cooler but the temperature kept crawling up. Because my sister and her family were in town we stayed at a friend's house...they were out of town. They don't have air conditioning except for their refurbished attic. The kids chose the attic and complained about the heat. Our room really was not bad...

We returned to Pennsylvania on Saturday and brought along a "guest"...the heat wave. In all we figured we had five days at 100 degrees or higher. Arrival at home was welcomed by all. We contacted our dog watcher (Chase and Murphy survived) and asked him to make sure the AC was on at home. He did...downstairs. Our upstairs thermometer read 98 degrees. Five hours later it read 98 degrees...it is an old system and could not touch "heatwave 11" and our kids wanted to return to our friends house with the attic only AC...The dogs, who sleep downstairs slept best of all that night.

Generally speaking it was an enlightening trip, Jim has grown up, Madison has too, years of non-contact don't really matter among friends, "global warming" _might_ exist, "helicopter" parents _do_ exist...and there is no "workaround" for an outdated failing AC system....

Chapter 13 - Day Trippin'

Following my family trip "back to college" I was relieved to know that I had a short week coming up...a simple overnight to Indianapolis. These shorter trips sometimes throw me off my routine as everything is different...you pack lighter, you spend as much time in the airport (or so it seems) as the hotel and you don't learn much about a new location (which Indy was for me) in such a short trip. This trip had its own challenges...

The flight out was not overly early and was pretty much uneventful...the pink tag memo that has been causing rogue gate agent behavior of late seems to have been rescinded. After another Detroit connection I arrived at the "new" Indianapolis Airport. I say "new" because it may be three years new but to me it was _really_ new...I had never been there and it was quite nice and updated. Between the concourses is a huge round "lobby" with all kinds of shops and restaurants...and little merchant kiosks. Generally it looked inviting and fun. Yet, as I tend to do, I sensed a problem...

Too busy to worry about it I headed off to get my rental car. I have to admit I actually enjoy the moment before I find out what car I have been assigned. It's a "little bit of Christmas" every week...the anticipation is a welcome boost after the stress of security, turbulence....coach. To be clear, I said _a little bit_ ...not like, "wow this is the best, so cool, can't stand it!" Anyway, as I approached the section where my car was located I realized today was going to be "different". I had a Prius...in Indianapolis. The irony was not lost on me. Here I was in the home of "The Brickyard" where speed rules and gas is guzzled like alcohol at a college campus (or at one of our family reunions) and I have...a Prius. I was actually thrilled...never been in one before. It showed. Inside the seats are like a car but after that...

Starting the car was the first challenge. It has the non-key key. I hate that concept as it requires thought on my part. Insert the key, turn and go. I get that. Have the key thingy with you or near you and push a button, make sure your foot is on the brake, hold your breath and close your left eye...halfway. That's not working for me. It wasn't "broke". Please don't fix it. It is not a big difference but enough to make me think the car is not actually on...I keep pushing the damn button. In this case though, that does not help...the Prius is silent...totally silent. The only thing quieter than this car is my daughter who when she would have a bad dream would creep up next to the bed, get six inches away and finally announce herself...much to my heart and adrenal gland's dismay.

Getting the car in gear was challenge number two. There is a "joy stick" of sorts that functions as the gear shift and which allows you to move it in various slots and positions (it always jerks back to the middle) but gives limited clues about what gear you are in. The PARK gear is a button. The screen (in the middle of the dash, not in front of you) shows mileage, fuel levels and has a diagram that I think shows the Three Mile Island Nuclear Reactor and its cooling tower status. I finally realize I can put the car in drive with a little joystick move and be on my way. Except I still can't hear it. At this point I wish it had a "tutorial" like most of the X-box games my kids play. I become concerned that I will perform as badly at this "game" as I do when playing video games with my children... except the stakes here are just a bit higher. It is not uncommon that my sons will eventually "kill" me in any fighting/shoot'em up games even though I am on their team because I become such a liability. My daughter Megan encourages me to do the "interactive" video games simply to watch me injure myself... I decide to press the accelerator but I am worried about it lurching forward. This proves to be the least of my worries...it's a Prius and it has the acceleration of me on a bike going uphill. Zero to twenty–five can be measured on a calendar... but cannot be heard. I exit the rental car garage and stealthily make my way to my hotel in downtown Indy. As I approach the highway I contemplate opening the door to provide a power boost with my left leg (like some strange four wheeled scooter) but I am surprised and pleased...the gas engine has kicked in and speed is improving. I can also hear the engine. Strangely, the car handles brilliantly. Tight steering, hugs the road and despite the fact that it looks like the "reactor" is melting down, I am making progress. Actually, I am flying...like at eighty miles an hour. I am sure this is some hybrid illusion and press forward darting in between eighteen wheelers and behind six wheeled pickups. My exit appears out of nowhere and I deftly slow the "video game" down and cut around an unsuspecting highway department truck. I hit the exit easily and make my turn. I _love_ this car. A golf cart on super steroids. I pull up to a red light and stop...first in line...as it should be for such a fine machine. Then, it happens...it stalls. The engine kicks off and I hear nothing. The light turns green and I frantically hit the start button...nothing new...the "reactor" is charging and the meltdown has stopped. I then realize the car is actually on (after a chorus of honking horns ...including the six wheeled pickup I now call "the predator"). I hit the gas and creep along at a snail's pace...up to the next light. "The predator", the highway truck and a Girl Scout troop on foot beat me to the light. I _hate_ this car.

I get to my hotel and valet is the only clear option. I learn there is a parking garage in Bloomington and opt to stick with the valet. I mutter something to the attendant about being careful..."it's a bit complicated". He looks at me like I need a walker.

The trip is totally uneventful and I suddenly find myself back at the airport. I have allowed an extra amount of time in case the car never leaves "golf cart mode" but it does and I have plenty of time before my flight. I enter the giant lobby and discover what I sensed the day before. While beautiful, entertaining and inviting, the lobby is a traffic flow nightmare...no clear patterns and plenty of opportunities for "collisions". It appears to be similar to those river scenes on the "hunting channel" or PBS, where salmon are headed upstream and flying around haphazardly. One of Indiana's larger visitors nearly takes me out while looking up toward the ceiling so very far way. I make an avoidance maneuver and nearly crash into a merchant kiosk. It is the lottery kiosk and deciding this was "Devine intervention", I purchase a Powerball ticket and head to the giant screen to check the gate for my flight. I cannot find it at first. This is because I am not on my "preferred" airline. I am on an airline that neither acknowledges me as a "frequent flyer" nor as a paying customer but I had an old ticket that was going to expire and they had a direct flight home. Normally I don't care about connections but tonight is my twentieth wedding anniversary...I think I should be home within a reasonable window of the dinner hour.

At the gate the gate agent suggests we check our bags (for no charge) due to the size of the aircraft and the fact that the flight "is completely full". The pink tag memo has migrated to these guys. I stopped flying them on any sort of regular basis because they have a tendency to either A: Cancel their flights or B: fly through some of the most horrific weather to save fuel. Today, it looks like they have neither option. The plane is already at the gate and the weather is clear. The flight takes off on time and I sit back...waaay back in coach to sleep the flight away. Just one problem...an avoidable problem in my mind. We hit turbulence...lots of turbulence, no beverage service, lose a filling turbulence. Now, I am no pilot but every frequent flyer knows there is an altitude where you are between air levels...I don't know what this means except to say, drop down a thousand feet and the county fair ride from hell stops. Same thing if you go up a thousand feet...but that takes fuel. The good news is it's only a ninety minute flight. The bad news is this is shorter than the time it takes me to get my checked bag. I sit in the baggage claim area and wait patiently by claim area F. I call home, I call friends. I recite "positive" affirmations in an effort not to come unglued. Finally it occurs to me that the airline that risks passenger comfort and safety may not hire employees who care to update the fact that they listed the wrong baggage carousel. I start looking and find my bag "face" down going around and around like the kid alone on a merry-go-round...disgraced because no one picked him to play ball. We reunite and other fellow passengers start looking elsewhere for their bags. Many were reunited. None of this occurred at claim F. Thanks airline that is based on Charlotte and has a huge hub in Philly! Never again! I arrive in time for a bottle of wine and frozen cheese sticks. Happy Anniversary!

The next day my Powerball ticket comes up completely empty...

Chapter 14 - Things That Go Bump In The Night...

I have mentioned before that Chase, the oversized Golden Retriever with the undersized brain has a "sleeping disorder". For some reason he is "missing" some key component (gene, hormone, brain part) that controls his muscles and which should prevent them from moving during an "active" dream. Apparently we all have this circuit breaker that to a certain degree paralyzes us in our sleep to prevent injury during such circumstances. Animals supposedly have this too. Chase does not. By the way, I did not make this up but I also haven't gone "deep" to study it....so I might have it wrong. What I don't have wrong is Chase's inability to control his movements during a dream. Positioned in just the right way, he could probably dent a steel door. I have on numerous evenings attempted to have him sleep closer to Murphy in the hopes that perhaps he would absorb a shot or two and start to "get it" a bit more. Regardless, I remain amazed what happens in life and, especially travels, when it is dark.

I'm not sure what is worse, the 6 AM flight to a meeting or the 6 AM return flight home. In both cases you don't want to miss it and be either the "Stooge labor guy who couldn't get up in time to attend our meeting" or be "The husband/father who doesn't care enough to come home on time". Recently (today actually) I had the 6AM flight home from St. Louis...through Detroit. I have taken this trip and connection so frequently that gate agents are starting to recognize me...and I recognize them. Sadly, this is not the case at my hotel. This morning the "Caribbean Dance Party" started going at 4 AM as planned. The backup wakeup call broke the early morning a.k.a. still nighttime silence seconds later and I was on my way towards getting to my flight. As I was getting ready I contacted the valet to retrieve my car...no answer. It says it is 24 hour service but I think someone was catching some Z's and I became both annoyed and jealous. I called the front desk and relayed the situation and they assured me they would make sure the car would be waiting for me within five minutes. "Crisis" averted. When I arrived downstairs and walked outside I noticed a valet guy sitting in a chair with his feet up on the decorative cement planter which might be in place to prevent cars from flying through the front doors. He spotted me and jumped to attention. I asked him if the front desk called and he said they did..."your car will be right up." It wasn't so I asked him again...I was also getting short on time. He told me the guy could not find my car. I asked him what number he was looking for (on the claim ticket) and he said 305. My number is 403. I'm sorry but this is like saying to someone when asked if you remember a phone number that "I know it has a 4 in it..." Just not even close. I had buried my claim ticket in my receipt file so I had to start unpacking. As I did so I begin to mutter "non-niceties" under my breath. I finally found it and the car arrived...in exactly five minutes...so they have that going for them.

I screeched out of their entryway and made up most of the time to the airport. On my way I hear a strange muffled "thump" and wonder if my car has a problem. It does not. I do. Or at least my trip might. It is a thunderstorm. Next came the wickedly bright cloud to ground lightning we hear so much about on the weather channel and then the torrential rain...which slows down my time "making up" efforts since I am in a rear wheel drive Dodge charger which, in the rain, reacts like a three year old (or me) on skates for the first time.

As I unpack the car, the storm gets worse and I notice fellow travelers running towards the shuttle/prison bus. I begin to run too...succumbing to "group think". As I approach the bus two passengers collide and fight to be the first in the bus. I suspect that their fear of the storm must be based on the fact that they have been struck by lightning before and so I back away...feeling safer way from these two. I get soaked in the process. On the bus I am able to sit far away from the "lightning rods" and I relax. I make it into the airport and mange to navigate security in a short amount of uneventful time.

I now have about fifty minutes until my flight departs and so I decide to get "breakfast." I enter a standard issue airport food distribution center disguised as a "Bistro" where behind glass counters are displayed dozens of items that in airports qualify as breakfast. At home they would qualify as "what the hell are these things doing here". Most of the items are sandwiches of a sort involving mostly eggs, meats and cheeses. If you want fruit they have it...in a plastic C-thru cup with a lid. Given enough time a straw might be appropriate. They always have these "fruit cups" these days and they are filled primarily with melon rind (which tastes just like it sounds) and "grapins"...small grapes that are close to raisin stage.

A perfectly sighted man in front of me asks the "trained" help if they have any wheat bread. Following a long pause she answers that they have "bagel bread, croissant bread and muffin type bread" (I was confused too). "Specific guy" asks if they can make two pieces of whole wheat toast (not listed in the options) and a couple of eggs and make it into a sandwich. The answer is no and it is delivered faster than "specific guy" can ask the question...he leaves. It is my turn and I resist the temptation to ask for an eggbeater omelet with goat's milk cheese and a slice of tomato. Instead I just point and smile. All goes well...until a very tall, very confident woman attempts to enter through the exit area. Fortunately I am not the first line of defense because even though my job could be described as confrontational, I tend to prefer to not be that way during the rest of my life. A confrontation ensues and I actually check out around and through it...pretending not to notice. I escape to my gate holding cell and eat my meat, cheese bread thing. The coffee tastes good. It is still dark outside.

While waiting I think back to an incident that occurred on Tuesday night. Having watched some HBO vampire/witchcraft show that both confused me and left me just a bit unsettled, I turned out the light. It was 11:04 PM Central time. Having had a long day, I fell asleep fairly quickly. Out of nowhere I was awakened by a sound. Startled, confused, mostly asleep and without glasses, I thought I was home and that Chase was dreaming of fetching some rancid tennis ball or was perhaps dreaming of chasing a rogue squirrel. I sat up in bed and looked around and realized I was not at home...or alone. I heard the sound again...a faint knock on my door. I remained confused and now was a bit concerned. This was way too late for the turndown service. The knock happened again and so I slowly walked to the door. Upon arrival, I was hunched over and attempted to look through the peephole only to discover it was covered...my ear was pressed against the door. I became more concerned in my sleepy state. Who covers the peephole except lunatics or perhaps...yes lunatics. I mustered the courage to say "helllooo, can I help you. I heard a soft female voice slur "z'it's karrughngh". I was unable to figure out what she said so I asked again, "who is it?" The reply came back more clearly..."It's Karen, _Karen_." I now stood straight up at the door with my hand on my chin thinking..."Who is this Karen person and why is she here"? I was thinking "I don't know any Karen's in St. Louis, could she be a delivery person..." Yes but not the type I am willing to accept. Then it struck me. Karen had the wrong room under any number of circumstances and I had the chance to really make an impression here...perhaps even stop her obvious "wandering" behavior for good. Then I began to worry that she might be a serial killer and so after rehearsing many a clever line, I finally told her she had the wrong room...I heard her gasp and slink away in shame. Realizing I had just avoided a potential life altering experience I proceeded to embark on a typical poor first night's sleep in the hotel. One that, just moments earlier was headed for an excellent deep sleep. I later discovered tissue in the peephole and realized Karen was not covering the peephole...it had just been the paranoid person who had the room before me. I left it...

Just after my "bistro treat" and prior to boarding I notice a disheveled woman entering my "holding cell"/gate area. She looks like she has not slept much in the past 24 hours and her friend doesn't look much better. She has frizzy hair that needs a good brushing. She is wearing a t-shirt and what can only be described as pajama pants. I tried this look once in college and my professor told me "gentlemen don't come to class in their pajamas." He was not impressed the next week with my tuxedo t-shirt. Suddenly now I get it.

As the two "ladies" sat down, the one asked the other if she wanted anything from "The Bistro". She did not answer. She asked again but either the remaining alcohol or more likely the ear buds were blocking her ability to hear. Finally her friend increased her tone and Said _"Karen, do you want anything to eat??"_ I looked up...could it be? Not sure but blocking the peephole is now going to be part of my standard routine...

Chapter 15 - What Was I Thinking?

It is a Wednesday night and I am sitting under a tree in an outdoor (thus the tree) gated restaurant patio in the vibrant Central West End of St. Louis...in August. The temperature _might_ be seventy-five degrees and there is no humidity...like being well, anywhere but St. Louis in the summer. While I enjoy this little slice of heaven (and an excellent dinner) my mood could not be much closer to 180 degrees different than it was just 48 hours ago...

It is the night before "departure day" for yet another trip to St. Louis...via Memphis. In order to make the morning meeting in Memphis (which in my infinite wisdom, I scheduled for 9AM Central time) I must take a 6AM flight from Philadelphia. I live an hour and fifteen minutes from the airport...with no traffic. Given that most people are smarter than I am, there should be very little traffic...they will be sleeping. You really have to allow for a full hour to park and get through security so this means I must arrive by 5:00 AM. Therefore, I need to step over the sleeping guard dogs at 3:45 AM. Since I like my "hair" to look "just right", I must be up and getting ready by 3:15 AM. None of the logistics for this trip seemed that bad to me until the night before...which is when they always start to appear "off". In this case "off" is so far from the mark. "Messed up", "Screwed up" were among the phrases I used... I packed everything (my bag, briefcase and GPS) earlier in the day to ease the strain that evening. Shortly after, I bid my wife goodbye as she had a meeting later that night. Bennett and I golfed and I later "cooked" take out pizza which ended up being delivered by a different restaurant since the take out guys were closed. Megan, our eleven year old daughter, dutifully tucked me in at 9PM and proceeded downstairs to enjoy some tween movie on the Disnickocomily Channel. I settled in for a short night's "sleep".

While I knew throughout the day I should probably have flown late in the day, I also wanted the day at home...time with the family. Generally a good choice but in this case, a painful "trade off" the next morning...or now. It never fails, no matter how tired I am (not very at 9PM) I sleep like total sh-, crap. And just like every other time I have done the "early flight" I begin to "do the math" on how long I have to sleep. Since my math skills rival a first grader's (on the first day of school), this exercise serves to "tire" me out and I (sometimes) fall asleep. Not tonight. The little light on my wife's computer is blue...and blinks. Potentially this is great for a Hanukah celebration or to serve as a Lighthouse on some coast, but in the bedroom...it might as well be...a blinking blue light that illuminates the entire room for three seconds allowing the guy with 20/400 vision to think the vacuum is really some dude dining in the dark in his bedroom...if only for three seconds. My wife (who is not home) would tell me to close my eyes. Great idea except I know the "lighthouse" is on and I keep checking to see if it has stopped...or if "he" is almost done with dinner. It hasn't and "he" isn't. My wife, by the way, can fall asleep as her head is actually landing on the pillow. It's true, I've seen it happen. Once she said "goodnight" and twitched like she was tripping off a curb at the same time. I can only do this with the help of gallons of alcohol... Eventually, I always (tonight is no exception) get up and re-position the computer so I will not be able to see the "lighthouse". I do this three to five times over the course of thirty minutes until I get it "just right." I have never unplugged the thing...I still do not know why...

Around 10:30 PM I have done numerous "math" problems and remain awake, the "dude" is on his second course and I am panicking about the time remaining until I must "wake-up"...even though I am awake. Forty-five minutes later, I am still awake and not even drowsy. My wife tiptoes in and I greet her sending her across the room in hysterics...I explain...math, lighthouse, "dude", more math, second course, arrival of spouse...she gets it and we engage in our normal pre-bed routine of catching up on the day, reviewing my travel schedule and discussing why our kids now stay up later than we do. Sue twitches before we finish the conversation...

Sometime between 1:45 am and the 3:15 AM wake up "call" I dive deep into sleep. Pigs are flying, the Lions win the Super Bowl and I have hair...the alarm jars me awake as I am hang gliding under water and I jolt awake and ruin the "dude's" after dinner coffee by smashing into him. I have already chosen my clothes for the day to eliminate "dressing in the dark" and looking more disheveled than I usually do. The shower is nothing short of agony as I am tired enough to be "drunk" and walk into 60 degree water. "Sleeping Susan" never so much as stirs...she is in a coma...no wonder the dogs like her.

Everything is packed and I head down stairs to the car. The dogs do not move and I am forced to literally push Chase across the tile floor in order to open the door (the garage door remains "functional" but I cannot open it from the inside so I exit out the side door...Chase's sleep zone)...time to renew the security system contract.

Outside I smell a skunk and hurry to pack the car and leave. God willing this will never be a blog topic. In the giant SUV I search the satellite radio for CNBC but only come up with the British feed which is of limited interest and a signal to me that I am living on "Euro-time" if only for the day. I check the weather in Memphis and discover thunderstorms are forecast for exactly when I land. I add this to my list of "worries". Security and boarding are uneventful but the airport was strangely crowded. I looked at all of the people and thought "they are stupid" for being up so early. They seemed to feel the same way about me...

Thunderstorms are certainly in the area but we avoid most of them and the ride is mostly pleasant...I actually fall asleep pretty early in the flight but am awakened by a less than observant flight attendant who wants to know if I want "pretzels or peanuts". I jolt awake in a similar fashion as I did just three hours and fifteen minutes earlier. I have my glasses on but she can see my eyes are bloodshot...sort of like someone who may have been _sleeping_!! She does not wait for my answer...which is good because it probably would have involved both pretzels and peanuts...

As I walk through the airport I take notice of my surroundings here in Memphis. It is clear Graceland gets more attention than the airport. Indy should be proud...very proud. I arrive at the rental car location but "Christmas Eve" never happens. I sit in the back of the shuttle bus and nearly give up the Starbucks breakfast I "enjoyed" just minutes earlier at "Graceland light". The next survey I get regarding my "recent rental" I will suggest shock absorbers for the van or a supplemental dental plan. I get to my car and load up. I check to see if I have satellite radio as I will be "heading north" to St. Louis in this vehicle...four and half hours via mapquest. I have satellite radio and it is activated. My finger sticks to the radio button but I hardly notice. I quickly exit to make my meeting and I am on my way...in the most disgustingly filthy car I have ever rented. It is so bad I stop at a Walgreens and buy disinfectant wipes...the kind that can handle "baby" issues. It appears, at first glance, that the previous driver spilled a few things. Upon further review it appears he either had a chocolate shake that exploded all over the car or...something else. I went with the chocolate shake theory for sanity reasons. Twenty minutes later, my car was as clean as a three month old who still needed a bath. Coulda, shoulda turned back around and changed cars but I didn't want to be one of those guys. And I had satellite radio... I made my meeting and was on my way that afternoon on the highway to St. Louis. That is when I discovered that the car sounded like it was going to lose a wheel. I sped up thinking it would help the wheel "tighten up".

Thirty minutes in, it happened...the most glorious, calming feeling of imminent blissful sleep was upon me. Knowing I could not fight this off for four more hours I pulled off at the first available rest stop to pick up some sugar and instant caffeine. I asked the cashier how long she thought it would take to get to St. Louis and she looked like I asked her how to launch rockets to Mars. She summoned her "supervisor"...who had eyes that made him look like he was from Mars (so I thought I was making progress). He mumbled something to the effect that "Once you get out of Arkansas..." I did not stay for the rest of his explanation. Suffice to say the loose wheel tightened fully within five minutes.

I arrived in St. Louis in time to take in a Cardinal's game (they lost) and was "home" (literally stayed in the same building/hotel where Sue and I had our first apartment twenty years ago) by 11:30 PM central time. I leave on Friday...at 6AM...

Chapter 16 - A Top Ten List and...An Explanation...

This week I am posting a top ten list. This is not my normal approach and I am actually only a partial fan of such lists. However, this is a big week for me. It is another week in...you guessed it, St. Louis but it is also the week before I embark on the trip to drop off our oldest son, Jim to college. Because Bennett and Megan both start school that same week, I will be making the trip without Sue. I am nervous and excited....and sad. So...a top ten list this week and perhaps a surprise the week after....check the site directly because it may involve more technology than I can handle.

This week I intend to devote my energies to writing the father-son letter I always said I would do when he was born...just "yesterday". Even if he laughs hysterically at my pearls of "wisdom," I probably will not be posting that letter. Check back after Labor Day and I will let you know how the drop off went...in the meantime...

Top Ten Things I wish I could Change About "Business Travel"

10. Airport Walkers: I'd create "Rules" like highways for most airport walkers because most of them cannot walk a straight line and they wander all over the place. If they were taking a sobriety test they would be considered "above the legal limit" as they weave and slow down and cut you off...like they are the only people in the airport. If they were in cars they would be in the highest insurance bracket. The best: those people that get to the end of the jet way and...stop. Sorry but there are more of us behind you and we'd like a chance to see the airport terminal as well. Next "best" those who stop at the end of an escalator...enough said.

9. Airport Announcements: Gate agents who make crucial flight announcements frequently do so while another agent is doing the same thing. This doesn't work. When the main P.A. system is making an announcement about airport security or the airport being a non-smoking environment (are there any smoking environments anymore?) this should also be considered a rotten time to try to convey information. Finally, those who went to the "Disney School of Fast Announcements" need to forget that approach...we cannot understand you when you never take a breath and always join the words together into one long sentence...

8. Foodies: I get it. Airplane food is not very good and many times it isn't even offered. If it is, it still is "questionable" at best. I don't care how many celebrity chefs you hire, it's hard to make a turkey sandwich taste good when you have to add the mustard (in an airplane seat, with plastic "cutlery") and the sandwich sat underneath Terminal 2 for the past two weeks. Throwing in some dried fruit that may or may not be what you say it is does not help. But here is the thing...if you have to bring your own food on the plane can you try to keep it simple? The latest ethnic "fad" is sure to go out of style in a confined tube with wings. Foods to avoid...anything with curry or onions.

7. Public Outrage: Traveling is stressful...no question about it. It starts when you leave home...it gets worse as you have to park (maybe you even risk injury riding a shuttle bus). It gets worse as you hit the lines for security, remove your shoes and potentially get "acquainted" with a TSA agent. Once you hit the gate who knows what awaits you...an "on-time" departure is one of many possibilities that all have equal odds. But just because it is stressful it does not give you free reign to "go off" in public when something goes awry. Stick with Twitter or FaceBook (or blogs) where there appear to be limited rules on civility. In public, there are rules, even if most of us have forgotten them...and we all had to go through the same stress...

6. Airport/Rental Car Shuttle Buses: This one is simple. Please order them with shock absorbers. If you can get them with windows that fit so they don't sound like they are falling out...all the better. Nothing says "welcome to our town" better than a bone jarring ride within the airport grounds. Also, it just can't be that expensive...

5. Boarding: The airlines have finally figured out how to board airplanes in a relatively efficient manner. There is just one problem: The passengers haven't kept up...and so chaos still reigns supreme. It amazes me how often the "crush" to board the plane begins when the gate agent announces "We will begin boarding...in five minutes". This is usually followed by an explanation of how they will then board by zones. These are listed on your boarding pass. Regardless, a traffic jam ensues simply to get _in line_ to get to the line... so you can then get in line to actually board. The only advantage to boarding first (imagine if you announced to people, "Those who get on first will spend an extra thirty minutes on the plane") is making sure your bag fits overhead. If not, it was probably too big anyway. In the future, let's pay attention to the gate announcements...that you cannot hear.

4. Hoarding: Yes, I said it. Too many people bring their lives possessions onto the plane. Unless you are moving or joining the Peace Corps you don't need all that stuff. Even with babies you do not need all that stuff*. Going overseas? Fine, but you still don't need all that stuff. By "stuff" I mean, three books (less a problem with the Kindle), every magazine you subscribe to and a couple more you picked up in the airport, headphones, sleeping goggles, neck sleeper thingies, blankets with feet and toaster ovens. In the end, most of it will just be clutter...for you AND the rest of us.

* This coming from a man who has blocked out all travel that included children under six. Ladies, feel free to disregard. Men, do not mention this advice...it will only hurt you.

3. Seat Reclining: I know most travelers believe this is their God given right but in reality reclining your seat has an exponential negative impact on the person behind you compared to the "benefit" you derive. In other words, when you put your seat back you don't really feel that much better (and you feel so much worse when it comes time to put it back up) but the poor soul behind you has just been given a shot of misery. One time a woman nearly snapped my laptop computer screen in half...only a quick move on my part prevented damage to the computer...and also ultimately to her little "dog in the box" who was riding along. My rule...if the flight is under two hours, sit up straight like your mother taught you. Longer than that, if you must recline...just do so slowly.

2. Mandatory Beverage Service: I'm not sure which group this is designed to appease, the passengers or the totally bored flight crew. The idea that you pay hundreds of dollars and you now get a "free" soft drink and a snack that even a chipmunk would starve on is beyond me. First of all it is extra work and creates a huge mess...just witnessed a colossal spill last week that must have looked like what happened in my recent rental car. Secondly, is there any other place where you would find a hundred plus people all sitting forward having a miserable time chugging down partial cans of beverages? Nope...only on an airplane. I'm not saying there should be no beverage service but make it a bit less "required". The way they come up to people it seems almost rude to say no and yet if you spend time thinking about it (and observing it...I have) it's totally strange. There...now you can be wierded out too.

1. Shoe Removal Guy**: Just stop it right now! Listen, you get to take you shoes off at home, in your hotel and at security. Security is the only place you do this in the general public... _and it is for security reasons_!! Still not getting it? Do you go to restaurants and just give the "dogs" a little air?? I didn't think so. Grocery shopping? "Hey just felt like my shoes were a bit _too much_ in your store. Felt much better in bare feet". Again, not buying it. What makes an airplane any different? PLENTY. How about re-circulated air....now with some of your "footness" making the rounds. So...now that we are clear. Keep your shoes on...for all our sakes! Absolutely stunned I have to bring this up...

** Women are allowed because it is considered common knowledge that their feet do not "add" to the re-circulated air...just saying.

Whew! I feel better. Enjoy the week. Time to "get serious" and impart wisdom...I'm headed to the library.

Chapter 17 - An Earthquake, a "Joyride", a Hurricane, a Drop off and...a Wall.

A lot has happened the past two (is it three?) weeks since I last posted. Way back when...whenever that earthquake thing happened on the East Coast, I was in St. Louis embroiled in a heated negotiating session. Actually, I was having lunch with the local management team but I am sure if we had been at the table with the union it would have had some level of "embroilment". In any case, I got a text from my wife saying _"I think we just had an earthquake...the whole building shook"_. I looked at the time and noticed it was only about 1:30 PM at home. I knew there was a time difference but not enough of one to justify a "happy hour". I texted back that she must be drinking or kidding. She insisted it was true. I mentioned it to my lunch partners and before long, with the help of the internet (thanks Al Gore) those of us in St. Louis "confirmed" to my wife that there had been an earthquake...in Reading, Pennsylvania. I heard there was a thing called "tremor envy" and I had it bad. I was ruined for a day...

The next morning I got in my fine rental car and made an observation. The mileage on the "Trip A" part of the dashboard read 63.2 miles. This should not have been very memorable except for the fact that I had been paying attention to the miles because I had set "Trip A" to zero a day earlier to track how far I had run the day before. That's right, I said run. I am in the midst of getting ready for a 5K in October (I would say train but 5K does not seem like it warrants a "training" regime. You "Train" to run a half marathon). Most people probably can do a 5K in their sleep. Me, I can sleep through a 5 K but actually run one? Well, truth be told Sue and I ran one last October (one before that in September) so I know I can do it. They timed me with a watch and not a calendar which was also good news. In any event, following The Reading Hospital 5K last October we suddenly stopped running with any regularity. By November we were a bit behind where we had been in October and then the weather started to get bad. So, once the weather turned better (Late July) we started running again.

So through the use of "Trip A" I discovered I had run 1.7 miles which was what I was hoping I had done. Later that day (earthquake day...the one I missed) I noticed as I was leaving the union hall where we were negotiating that "Trip A" read 18.6 miles. I made a mental note that the drive was about 16 miles from the hotel. No idea why...just did. I then drove to the Hotel...16 miles away. When I got to the valet (no choice unless you want to fight for street parking). There was no one to help. Actually there was no one _willing to help_. There were plenty of "valet people" but they paid me no attention. Eventually I reciprocated and left....with the keys. I loitered around the lobby pondering how I could have been left out of the earthquake when a valet person found me and asked if I was the owner of "that silver car". I refused to look him in the eye and pretended I was busy but told him I was indeed the owner of "the rental car". I continued to look at my Blackberry like it held the secret to curing baldness. He asked if I wanted to valet park the car when I informed him I was _already_ a valet customer. I gave him the keys and we parted company. No money exchanged hands. The next morning I figured out the valet guy who I had not bothered to look at (on purpose) had either allowed someone or taken it upon himself to take my little Chevy Cruze on a 25 plus mile joy ride. Angered at first, I eventually found the effort commendable if not unprofessional. Since I would not be able to identify the "thief" I simply moved on...after checking every compartment including the trunk for "contraband". Contraband in my definition includes drugs, stolen property and "bodies". After an "all clear" I returned the car no worse for the wear...as far as I knew.

That weekend Hurricane Irene made her way up the East Coast and I was there!! At last, a real disaster I could be a part of. I reveled in it...I checked the weather channel constantly, I moved any object from the outside in (I moved Murphy outside) and I braced for her...I even had duct tape ready to repair the "Many broken windows we may encounter". I informed the family that earthquakes are fast and fleeting...essentially any "sissy" can handle a few seconds of shaking but hurricanes...oh yes, these were designed to test the real inner strength of a person. Hours of torrential rain, pounding wind with tree limbs and braches everywhere...perhaps even a Tornado! Power would most likely be out until Halloween...Sue and the boys were annoyed, Megan was petrified...until her Mother got to her and explained that I had never actually been in a hurricane and had no clue. In the end... we suffered extreme leaf damage...

The next week I was "home"/on vacation. In reality, this would be the week I would drive our oldest son Jim to college. A week I was dreading. I dreaded it mostly because I was not really ready to have Jim leave the house. Jim has been ready to leave since he was five when he "interviewed" neighbors to see if they could provide a "better deal" than he was getting at our house. He did appear to find one but when Sue protested he offered to visit on Sunday's "for an hour".

We left on Monday, stopped in Ann Arbor, MI to visit my sister, her family and my parents...as well as about another dozen friends and family who came by for dinner and to wish Jim good luck. Sue, Bennett and Megan stayed behind to begin the school year. Tuesday found us in Madison under an overcast sky and with the UW Marching band practicing about half a mile from Jim's dorm. They played "On Wisconsin" as we drove by and I knew he was "home" from the grin on his face from ear to ear. I claimed allergies for the moist eyes. I don't have allergies...except maybe to Murphy. We immediately tended to the most important business of the "arrival" process...we picked up his football tickets. That night we had a great father-son dinner at a local steak house where he ordered "beef...lots of it please". The next morning would be the move in and time for me to let go...

Wednesday arrived like the past eighteen years passed...overnight. After the obligatory massive breakfast we stopped in at what my wife and Megan thought was a Bi-Level Target (remember we had been here in July as a family). We picked up a few last minute items, discovered the store is one level over a parking area...a bit like Ikea's and then began the move-in process. This is handled just as one would expect...like a full scale assault. Highway construction signs with electronic messages telling parents which dorms loaded where and which streets to take to get there were everywhere. I am fairly certain that young families who live in town were bunkered down in their shelters as they were nowhere to be seen. The move in process was further aided by an excellent parking space (we scouted it out the day before while listening to the band) and his roommate who moved in two days earlier...he had done all the heavy lifting...beds lofted, etc. After about four hours (three more than I estimated) it was time for me to go...I had to make it six to eight hours east and was fighting a one hour time deficit. We ventured out to the car so I could give him his health forms, a bit more cash and "The Letter".

"The Letter" was my idea and was something I thought about the day Jim was born. I vowed to "be a great Dad" which to me included "imparting" knowledge to our children at "key" points in their lives. Usually this meant on Saturday's when the Badgers were trailing at halftime but the start of College also counted. I officially started it years ago but really started writing it during "earthquake week". Halfway through I realized that while I like to write, Sue is my wife, my best friend and...my editor and, in case I forgot to mention...the mother of our children. She needed to contribute. I also wanted to release some of the "stress" of this self -imposed project on her since I was getting both overwhelmed and my "allergies" were acting up. Plus my "advice" ability was plummeting. While I started with things like "Pursue your passion...the hard part is knowing what that is" had fallen off to things like "Eat your vegetables...unless they boil them" and "Vote early and vote often". Sue took the reins and the letter was fantastic.

Just one problem...we needed to print it to sign it and put it in the envelope for me to deliver at the appointed time...the departure from Madison. Unfortunately, I am still unable to print on any printer in our house (something about "administrator rights"...I call them aggravation rights) and so we needed another computer. Jim was due home any minute from his last night with his remaining friends (many had departed for school already) so we panicked and used his computer. The printing went fine and I "deleted" the letter from his screen. I dropped his computer on his bed, screen up, letter safely sealed in my briefcase. The next day as he said goodbye to his mom he said "Oh, I read the "note", thanks." We were appalled and stunned too. First of all _this was no note_ , it was a missive, our life's work boiled down into a mere five pages (singles spaced!!). _A Note?!!?_ Second of all he was not supposed to get it until he "needed" it. When his dear old, rock solid of a father left him...in Madison. So that didn't work...

Now here we were with only the already read letter and a hug between us before I dropped him off to start college...I handed him the letter which was now a big joke. I was already having "an allergy attack". We hugged for a long time, tears streaming down my face. I finally backed away unable to speak for what seemed like a long time. Jim broke the silence saying "You'll be back here before we know it". Which is true, I planned a trip over a year ago to see Wisconsin play Nebraska in Nebraska's first ever Big Ten Game. At the time, I had no idea if Jim would even be attending my Alma Mater. I smiled through my "allergies" and finally managed to get out "Be Great". I think it sounded more like "Eat Paint". He smiled and said he would. Two hours later my allergies continued on and off and I scolded myself for being too much like John Boehner. I wondered if Jim was okay. I later learned that Jim tweeted the following message: "Just dropped my dad off on his way home from college...only a few tears. They grow up so fast..." He was great. I still had allergies.

The Monday following the drop off was Labor Day. Tuesday my phone started playing "the dance party" at 4:30 AM. Not unusual except...except I did not budge. I was awake but I was not moving. I had hit the travel wall. Ten of the past fourteen weeks had been spent in St. Louis. The other "open" weeks were the week my family brought illness from Michigan, negotiations in upstate New York (where I had the "room with a view") our "stay-cation" week, a trip to Indy and the drop-off (1936 miles round trip but who's counting). I looked blindly at the ceiling (I have like 20-4000 vision). I couldn't do it...not again. I was gassed...nothing left in the travel tank. Too many hotel nights, too many connections, too many rental car shuttle buses...I was done. Eight hours later I was back in St. Louis, the local team as disturbed to see me as I was them and we did it again...with much success. We concluded the two main contracts and after a forty-eight hour turn around I am back here for my _last week_ as we are now trying to finish up the smaller but remaining three contracts.

About 2PM today it became apparent that we have a few more issues to resolve and I will be back here next week as well..."earthquakes" aren't the only things that can make you shake...

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About The Author

Jay Conlin is a corporate Labor Negotiator who travels for Business. He has lived in Wyomissing, Pennsylvania with his wife, three children and two moronic canines since 2007...this is a record amount of time for them in one place.
