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I'm typing this out on an airplane which at this moment is somewhere over the Midwest, roughly three to four hours out of San Francisco. As with all such trips I take, it seems that the getting there is half the adventure.
So I'm my usual stressball self in preparing for the trip. I'm trying not to think about what preparations I made because I'll then invariably realize, for example, 'Holy crap, I left the shower running!" or such. I do manage to overpack slightly which means that I'm rather dreading what condition I'm going to find my luggage in. The TSA is not exactly known for being polite.
I call car service for a lift to the airport, in part because I won't have to pay to get my car out of hock -- er, pay for long-term parking which is probably about as far from the airport as my house is anyway. Also, in part, to put a stick in the craw of a set of neighbors who seem to embody that whole "culture of entitlement" that permeates Staten Island. To wit, they park in my space and are very dismissive when they're approached about it. So let's see how they like it when they don't have my space to park in for two weeks.
How to explain the car service ride? Let me see.... "Creepy" comes to mind.
The guy was pleasant enough. "Mind if I get a cup of coffee?" Okay, since it's a flat rate to the airport, and I'm hella early, that's cool. "Mind if I smoke?" Blah. He kept the window open at least. He was a talker, too, which is okay, but I wasn't too much in a talkative mood. At one point he cheerfully says he's a "ball-buster." ... ooooo-kay, and this is to get me to give you a tip... how? Honestly, is this some sort of guy thing that I completely missed while growing up, to proclaim and brag about how much of an annoying ass you can be? (Which is all the more ironic, because he wasn't an annoying ass. Go fig.)
So I get to the airport approximately "Holy Shaznak!" before the plane takes off, and I do my usual read-snooze-watch-CNN routine. The plane eventually starts to board -- there's one other guy from the NY-NJ area who is coming with me to this training. He's supposedly on this plane. I have not yet seen him and I am starting to suspect that he is a figment of my imagination. Some people have imaginary friends; I have imaginary co-workers.
Shifting mental gears again, I do have to say that there are some things about this trip which are mildly irritating. I had the impression that each of us were going to have a rental car to use while we're out here. Well, it comes out closer to two rental cars for the five of us. This might make things interesting. I also suspect that I will be sharing a room with someone. This is rather irritating if it turns out to be true. What company makes their people share rooms on a business trip? Even if I'm a retail rat, I would have thought that we'd each be getting a room. I mean, I'm not in college anymore. I guess I'll find out when I get there just what the situation is.
All in all, though... it sure beats the Hells out of three weeks of having people whine-- er, complain to me about how their $TOY is broken and how $COMPANY sucks rocks and how they paid N*1000 money for $STUFF and so I should $GENUFLECT and kiss their $ANATOMY.*
So, next up: Transport, arrival at the hotel, brief review of the facilities, discovering if I have a roomate or not, and seeing what transportation is going to be like for the coming two weeks.
Update: And I have arrived! There are indeed shared accommodations, but it's in a suite arrangement so it's cool. And... we got the car. The car... is a 2006 Ford Mustang. A Mustang. I now know why these cars are so dangerous: I was pushing 60 and I didn't even realize that it was nearly that fast. It didn't feel like it was going fast. It's a really fast car.
Anyway. I'm going to get some sleep here. Longish day ahead. Pax!
* - ... No. No, I'm not going to say it.
So I'm my usual stressball self in preparing for the trip. I'm trying not to think about what preparations I made because I'll then invariably realize, for example, 'Holy crap, I left the shower running!" or such. I do manage to overpack slightly which means that I'm rather dreading what condition I'm going to find my luggage in. The TSA is not exactly known for being polite.
I call car service for a lift to the airport, in part because I won't have to pay to get my car out of hock -- er, pay for long-term parking which is probably about as far from the airport as my house is anyway. Also, in part, to put a stick in the craw of a set of neighbors who seem to embody that whole "culture of entitlement" that permeates Staten Island. To wit, they park in my space and are very dismissive when they're approached about it. So let's see how they like it when they don't have my space to park in for two weeks.
How to explain the car service ride? Let me see.... "Creepy" comes to mind.
The guy was pleasant enough. "Mind if I get a cup of coffee?" Okay, since it's a flat rate to the airport, and I'm hella early, that's cool. "Mind if I smoke?" Blah. He kept the window open at least. He was a talker, too, which is okay, but I wasn't too much in a talkative mood. At one point he cheerfully says he's a "ball-buster." ... ooooo-kay, and this is to get me to give you a tip... how? Honestly, is this some sort of guy thing that I completely missed while growing up, to proclaim and brag about how much of an annoying ass you can be? (Which is all the more ironic, because he wasn't an annoying ass. Go fig.)
So I get to the airport approximately "Holy Shaznak!" before the plane takes off, and I do my usual read-snooze-watch-CNN routine. The plane eventually starts to board -- there's one other guy from the NY-NJ area who is coming with me to this training. He's supposedly on this plane. I have not yet seen him and I am starting to suspect that he is a figment of my imagination. Some people have imaginary friends; I have imaginary co-workers.
Shifting mental gears again, I do have to say that there are some things about this trip which are mildly irritating. I had the impression that each of us were going to have a rental car to use while we're out here. Well, it comes out closer to two rental cars for the five of us. This might make things interesting. I also suspect that I will be sharing a room with someone. This is rather irritating if it turns out to be true. What company makes their people share rooms on a business trip? Even if I'm a retail rat, I would have thought that we'd each be getting a room. I mean, I'm not in college anymore. I guess I'll find out when I get there just what the situation is.
All in all, though... it sure beats the Hells out of three weeks of having people whine-- er, complain to me about how their $TOY is broken and how $COMPANY sucks rocks and how they paid N*1000 money for $STUFF and so I should $GENUFLECT and kiss their $ANATOMY.*
So, next up: Transport, arrival at the hotel, brief review of the facilities, discovering if I have a roomate or not, and seeing what transportation is going to be like for the coming two weeks.
Update: And I have arrived! There are indeed shared accommodations, but it's in a suite arrangement so it's cool. And... we got the car. The car... is a 2006 Ford Mustang. A Mustang. I now know why these cars are so dangerous: I was pushing 60 and I didn't even realize that it was nearly that fast. It didn't feel like it was going fast. It's a really fast car.
Anyway. I'm going to get some sleep here. Longish day ahead. Pax!
* - ... No. No, I'm not going to say it.
