Perils of Caffeine in the Evening

I had a longish layover in Minneapolis today on my way to Milwaukee. Since I am my own Purchasing department, I was able, several years ago, to slip a Northwest Worldclub membership past my beady little green-visored eyes, and that’s where I hole up when I’m waiting for planes. Today, a huge Airbus 330 full of passengers to Tokyo had a cracked flap, and will not depart until tomorrow. Long lines at the reservation desk, but the agents seem to be handling it very well. People who live in Minneapolis will get a little comfort pack and sleep in their own beds tonight. Others are getting dinner, hotel and transportation vouchers. In a cruel twist, they will not release any of the checked baggage, so those folks had better be wearing some durable underwear - it will have to last today, tonight and then the flight to Narita. At least they’re not sitting in the plane on the tarmac.

On my flight from MSP to Milwaukee, I got what they call a “battlefield upgrade”, wherein a frequent flyer gets an unused first-class seat at the gate. When you ride in coach, you engage in the little passive-aggressive contest for part or all of a shared armrest (although I usually let the middle-seat occupant have it, since I’ve got a whole one to myself on the aisle or window and, truth to tell, I’m more passive than aggressive). I’ve never had to worry about someone encroaching on my seat real estate in first class, though, until today. The guy next to me on the way to Milwaukee was easily 350 lbs., barely fit in his seat, and his hamhock of an arm took up the entire console between our seats, where I usually put my preflight drink, my cell phone and a snack wrapper. A person that size, I think, is literally his own bed, and he fell asleep as we started rolling for takeoff, snoring in a way that sounded like the fuselage breaking apart.

Waiting for my luggage, a suitcase went by on the carousel and suddenly a tag on it started twinkling blue LED lights. I believe someone had a remote, and was using it to pick out his bag. A little more elaborate than the festive colored ribbons that some folks use. My own luggage is so beaten up that I’d recognize it anywhere.

I tend to oscillate between two car rental companies in Milwaukee, Enterprise and Thrifty, depending on the lowest price. With Enterprise, it’s kind of irritating because they act like an escort service. They meet you in the garage, introduce themselves, shake your hand and walk you down the line of cars like you’re reviewing horseflesh. We walk around the little philly they’re willing to part with looking for dings and scratches. When I say I want to decline all of the insurance coverages that, taken together, would triple the daily rate I signed on for, the Enterprise pimp gets a stern look on his face and warns me that I’m taking full responsibility, and, I think, checks the bond rating for my insurance company. By the time I get to drive away with my car, I feel like I should be in possession of a dowry.

This time, though, I’m renting from Thrifty, and they’re just the opposite - they’re so neglectful I really wonder if they know I’m driving away with one of their cars. I always pre-order a compact car, and about a third of the time they don’t have one when I arrive. Instead of saying so, they do the coy, “Is a compact car going to be good enough for you?” I’m tempted to ask, “Why, do I look like I won’t fit?” In these instances, I end up with a mini-van or some other monstrosity for the price of the compact. Today, they gave me this frighteningly huge Grand Marquis. I nudge it gently through the labyrinth of the garage, wondering why a tug escort wasn’t provided.

Once checked into my hotel, I set out for a walk in a nearby park. As I came around a curve, I espied this guy on the sidewalk ahead (click to enlarge).

Such is the not-so-glamorous life of the business traveler. More posting as work permits. (What? I need a work permit? If I don’t have one, can I refuse to work?)