God's way of telling me to stay home
I think I’m done with the business travel for a while. From now on, I’ll save the airfare and just sit by myself in an airport for a few hours, while someone punches me in the face and verbally abuses me.
Last week, I flew to Baltimore for a two-day conference. I had never been, so I arrived wide-eyed and impressed, albeit a little late because my flight had been delayed (of course). The hotel was very nice, with a great view of the harbor across the street. Yep, things were going well.
…until the morning. About 10 a.m. our group took a break. We all left the conference room and scurried in different directions to soak up our 10 minutes of freedom. Shortly thereafter, we realized that someone had been in the room during our break that did not belong there. And that someone left with a couple of wallets. Mine included.
The true panic set in when I realized I had no I.D. and I was supposed to fly home in a few hours. I also didn’t have any money for a cab to the airport. The rest of the day played out a bit like the movie “Planes, Trains & Automobiles.”
I begrudgingly accepted money from someone in my company. I got violated by the airport security people. And then I got seated next to a very large man who took up the entire armrest and smelled like garlic and bologna.
In the days that followed, I had to stop by the bank (during the hours of 8-4), go inside, tell my story all over again and give them everything short of a blood sample just to get a few dollars to live on. The inside of my purse is a mess, containing loose cash, coins, random receipts, and my new license all thrown in, willy nilly, driving me right out of my mind.
Tonight I get a wallet. Tomorrow I figure out how to affix it to my body somehow so that this NEVER. HAPPENS. AGAIN.