Thursday, April 27, 2006



Who the F@%# is paying for all of this?



That’s the first thing I thought when I came down the stairs tonight. I’m in Phoenix at this rockin’ resort that hosts tons of conventions, corporate travelers and their tag-alongs. I’m here on a corporate rate that’s a quarter of the published rate. Negotiated corporate rates are the only way I’d ever get into a place like this. A chicken breast with polenta is thirty-five bucks. There are pool boys everywhere. The staff says things like “good evening” and “my pleasure” when you walk to your room at the end of your day. The greeting when you call the front desk is three sentences long. Waiting for the cue that it’s your turn to talk is excruciating. “Thank you for calling the front desk at the (insert hotel name here). It’s a beautiful evening here in lovely Phoenix and we hope you’re enjoying your stay. My name is Jason it’s my pleasure to help you Miss (this is where they stumble) J..J...Jack….in…crack…er.” The longer the greeting the more expensive the hotel.

The favorite subject here in the Lobby Bar is what you can put on your expense report. “Well, my new manager is pretty cool so I think that if I have a bar tab here I’d be able to justify it if she asks. After all, I am at a Sales and Marketing conference and what’s Sales and Marketing without a bar tab? Everything else I’ve spent has been totally on track with corporate initiatives- ya know, we’re ‘putting the customer first’ and so I guess another round would be okay. Put it on my room!”

Another observation. People in this Lobby Bar fall into the following categories: Drunk dominant Sales Managers who like to yell periodically, their wing men, timid go-with-the-flow new hires, well dressed wives, homely spinster glass ceiling types, rich grandparents, and annoyed bar staff. Lack of a color-coded polo is the only thing
separating me from being part of the annoyed bar staff club. I could be one of them with a simple costume change. But instead, I sit here blogging my observations with a critical tone and continue to listen to the conversations around me. All while I thank my lucky stars for my expense report. “Put it on my room!”

Wednesday, April 19, 2006




So this is what they're all talking about.

My usual travel is work. I don't mean that I'm traveling for work, I mean that it's work to travel. Parking lots, passports, negotiating taxi fares, screeching loud-speakers in airport terminals. Long flights that make my backside flat and tingly numb. Disappointing seat assignments. Hotel air conditioners that whine all night. Farting air passengers. I could go on.

But, this week travel was different. I had the week off. My husband needed to go to a client meeting on the coast of Northern California in a town called Fort Bragg. It's just two hours north of our house. My work has kept me out of town a lot so I thought I'd go with. Twenty minutes of online shopping and I found a mid-week special at a B&B called the The Headlands Inn. No two night minimum. Yes! We booked it over the phone.

Denise, the owner, made my reservation. Her prices, features and location were about the same as everyone else but she gave good phone so I booked with her. I even told her she gave good phone. She didn't get it. She cheerfully listed the details of my stay while I fumbled around for my credit card.

It was a risk. We don't stay in B&Bs much. This is because the last time we did was for our first anniversary and we barely had time to visit with each other. There was a week long "breathing seminar" going on down the street and the old lady and the young former ballerina with the broken soul were determined to convince us that we didn't know how to breath. Breakfast conversation went like this:

The Ballerexic (that's a ballerina whose anorexic) leaned in over breakfast "It's like. Well... We come into this world and what's the first thing that happens?" She didn't give me time to answer "we're spanked and so the first experience of our breath is rooted in fear and abuse so this like totally defines how we relate to our lives, you know, fear and stuff. Oh m'god. You guys should totally come with us tomorrow. We're just going to sit with our fear and breath...for six hours. Once you learn how to really breath, you'll wonder what you've been doing all these years."

It continued.

She left literature for us that the innkeeper later forwarded to our home address. We swore we'd never stay at a B&B again.

But this place is different. It looks like a B&B. It's painted in pastels, it has a great deck that faces the ocean, lots of doilies, birds chirping, a cute couple who run the place. But there's one distinction that makes all the difference. NO COMMUNAL BREAKFAST.

And so, I finally get what everyone's talking about when it comes to B&Bs. Relaxing. Beautiful. Romantic. And, a chance to just sit with my fear and breath.

Friday, April 14, 2006

the temporary community


We all gotta eat. We all wanna drink. Airport bars are the place where people come together just to split apart again. I sat down tonight at a puck in the Chicago airport and within minutes business travelers of all tax brackets were sharing tips on what to order. We watched each other's stuff while "I step away for a minute" and we lamented about our least favorite airports. The guy in the red athletic wear next to me looked like he was ready for advice, the barely legal frat boy to my right was looking for someone to drink with, the bearded guy just wanted a side salad but it wasn't on the menu.

As I sat at that bar tonight I felt myself agreeing, smiling, sharing my travel secrets of survival and making menu recommendations to the weary souls around me. These guys were my people. Not one a leisure traveler. All weekday warriors. We were a tribe even before we sat together. So, I guess the temporary community isn't temporary at all. Although we aren't sitting at the bar together now, we're connected through greater commonalities. Frequent flyer programs, American Express memberships, and cell phone networks.

When I sit down to eat in an airport it's more than caloric intake. It's breaking bread with people you don't know but are part of your club. We're just one common lay over away from being on a first name basis.