Wednesday. November 7, 2001

a warmer, cuddlier airline

"Paranoia strikes deep
Into your life it will creep
It starts when you're always afraid
You step out of line, the man come and take you away."

"For What It's Worth" Buffalo Springfield, 1966

I have slept a long time when it's 6:30AM and it's 8:30AM at home. So I get up and shower. I'm all dressed and packed up and have the latest news by 7:30. It's interesting to watch to local LA news for a change. They are all knotted up about a proposal to decorate the HOLLYWOOD sign with stars and stripes. I'm not kidding. I never kid you.

I want a paper. There was a coffee pot in the bathroom of this Holiday Inn. Which is perfectly comfortable, for the record, and you can walk to the convention center but it is a sleazy neighborhood. All the 'official' convention hotels are downtown and they run shuttles. But in the daylight, walking down this major street (Figueroa) seems safe enough. Out my window you have a great view of a Staples Center parking lot and three twelve-story high Lakers guys in action. The latter somehow an ad for Apple because it has their logo and 'Think Different.' I don't know if that is a comment on these guys' (nope, I can't identify them) talent, personalities or use of Power Books.

Anyway, the paper. There are lots of papers outside doors, but not mine. I refrain from taking one. I go down and ask at the desk.

"Are you a Priority Member?" asks the woman, a bit sullenly.

"No. I just want to buy a paper." (Trust me, you never, ever wanna travel on business enough to be treated to these priority this or honors that or even care a whit about it.)

She cheers up a bit and decides maybe non-Priority customers aren't scum or maybe she realizes I could have filched one two feet from my door and didn't. She asks the bellman to sell me one. And I get the Los Angeles Times from a stack outside the (closed) gift shop and leave my fifty cents with him. A paper that is still fifty cents. Cool.

I meet my colleague for breakfast. On my Central Standard Time clock it's already after ten. And I'm probably still on Daylight Time so it's after eleven. My stomach wants food and I have the eggs benedict.

Thus fortified, I go into the meeting at a room in the bowels of the convention center. Security is lax on this convention. To prove it I walk through the halls, get some of the bottled water off the snack tables, use the e-mail in the provided kiosks, all without my badge.

The meeting. Face to face with some of the people who are important to us in another company. I'm giving them details, laying groundwork for them to understand how important our work is to their customers, probing for what they are doing and figuring out what role they play, what they can and cannot do on behalf of this company. A colleague who set up the meeting is amazed that they listen and talk to me for an hour and a half. He has indicated that one of the people is closed, can be hostile or arrogant. I don't see it. Maybe it's me. Maybe I break through all that with my Texas drawl and my 'ah shucks..we just want to help the customer, our customer, your customer' attitude. Or not.

My other Austin colleague is off to catch a shuttle. They have her on a multi-leg itinerary. To save money. I refused. I scout around the conference a bit more, sit through the banquet lunch in case I can hear any good gossip.

And it's off to air travel again. There is a long line to check in but I'm early. I tell the agent there should be an upgrade. She is amazed that there is and that the instructions say not to take an upgrade out of my account or anything. I check the small bag the conference gave me with the white papers and brochures I wanted to take home and the nail clippers I bought. I'm such a good citizen, not trying to take dangerous nail clippers on airplanes.

I have a while to wait. I sit in a departure lounge and work crosswords and watch people. I swallow two of my decongestants two hours before the flight.

The chair is uncomfortable and I get stiff. So I get up to stretch. I wander through the gift shop and consider a book or magazine. Then I spy Chili's and I think, "A beer. That would be good." I drink a tall Foster's at the bar. There is a young man sitting next to me, also drinking a beer. A guy a bit older, fortyish, is next to him. I hear the older one talk. American. Probably California. Then the young man opens his mouth. English-speaking South African. For sure. Sounds just like my friend Mags' son. I ask. I'm right. Jo'berg. Here for a helicopter repair class. We talk about S. Africa, the exchange rate, what he saw while here.

I talk to the other guy. He met a woman who lives half time in UK and is going to stay with her. Both guys, who just met in the bar, are flying to London on the same flight. The young man then has a six-hour layover and flies ten or twelve to Jo'Berg. He is not looking forward to it. He has ordered a couple of double 'Captain and cokes' to top off his beer. (I didn't know either...it's a spiced rum.) He is ruing the cost. The exchange rate, you know.

It's time for my plane. I slip the barkeep money for the SA kid's bill.

I find a seat in the departure near the gate and plop down. The gate security lady comes over and takes me for frisking and bag check. She doesn't do that thorough a job, really. She doesn't open the computer or the pack-it with the slacks and shirt from yesterday. (I put the dirty underwear and the toothbrush in the bag I checked.)

"Do you have any sharp objects?"

"No," I say, truthfully. "No, I don't." (Those nasty nail clippers are in my checked bag.)

On the plane, I have a window seat next to a guy who pokes on his laptop officiously. He never says a word to me. I catch a glance at the e-mail and papers he's reading occasionally and conclude he's in some kind of computer business. Doesn't work for IBM. (Has a Dell laptop.) Could work for Dell.

I take the meal even though I'm not really hungry. I swallow another pill, drink a Jack Daniels and water, eat the salad, eat some of the pasta and drink two glasses of red wine. I eschew dessert. I doze a little. We are in Austin!

I wait for my little checked give-away briefcase with my brochures and dirty underwear and toothbrush. Finally it shows up.

I grab a cab. The driver tells me all about his ex-wife and girlfriend but, at least, he knows the route to my house. That's something.

I fall into bed. Trip worth the trouble? I don't know. Maybe.

Meta:
I'm going to catch up....yep.

JUJUST TYPING
Meeting.
Who talks.
Who controls.
Who gets a to do.
An
order
of pecking.
Unclear
to those who aren't in control.