you want mint for pillow

What to write about, what to write about…I think I could spend a month on O’Hare International Airport…or my brother suggested investigating the invasion of personal space epidemic ripping across the country…but I decided to write about an odd phenomenon I’ve noticed lately…when did maids start getting so aggressive?

I haven’t been traveling routinely for a few years so I’m not really sure how this came about but I was staying someplace a while back and at 8:15am I heard the familiar key card knock on the door followed by the “housekeeping” call.  Really, 8:15am in the morning?  I’m not exactly a morning person, but that seemed a bit aggressive.  When I asked my traveling companions about it at lunch they said this was becoming more and more the norm and to combat this phenomenon it was suggested that as soon as you check in you hang the ole do not disturb sign up.  This seems like a reasonable work around but just like the immortal Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City, who looks oddly like a foot by the way, “I wondered, why are maids so eager to clean these days.”

To get to the answer I was looking for I needed to do some firsthand research.  And so on my next trip I inquired during check in as to whether there were any maid jobs available?  “They are called housekeepers, and no” was the reply.  I made it all the way to webelo in scouts so I was prepared for such a setback.  So the next morning I donned this little number and set about knocking on doors at 8:00am.  I’ll be the first to admit that while I was prepared I had not entirely thought this through.  I was in San Francisco.  If you’ve ever wondered what you thought your face would look like if you found out you won the lottery…I’ve seen it eight times.

So that was a bust.  Next up I thought I’d conduct some interviews. 

I started walking the halls in the morning trying to chat up the cleaning ladies as they were busily working away.  I can’t be sure, but it seemed like they were in some sort of indentured servant arrangement because they kept looking over my shoulder or behind them and would not answer any of my questions.  Frustration got the better of me and so started stealing the little conditioners, but not the shampoos.  My hair is silky smooth.   

Now what?

Perhaps hallway cameras were a concern and they didn’t want to be caught chatting it up in hallways with guests.  So the next morning I lay in wait…hold on, that sounds creepy.  I awoke early and waited for the familiar knock.  Still sounds creepy but I was hoping they would be more eager to talk while they were working in the room instead of out in the hallway.  No dice.  Perhaps clothes were the problem. 

So the next morning I got dressed and waited.  Again, no interest in talking. 

I was getting nowhere so on my next trip I made a horrendous mess of my room.  I used every towel, set my alarm for the middle of the night so I would switch beds.  I threw my clothes around like a monkey throwing his own feces.  I threw my own feces around.  I moved the furniture.  I hid the shower curtain under the bed and I used one of the window curtains as a bedspread.  I thought that if there was a lot to clean it would take her a while and I could break her down and get her to talk.  Instead I’m no longer welcome at that hotel.

Taking the opposite approach I cleaned the next hotel room I stayed in spotless thinking that if they had nothing to clean they would have time to talk, but I just got one of those looks people probably gave Howard Hughes when they saw his many jars of urine and Kleenex boxes for shoes.

Thinking it might be a language issue I pulled out my best high school Spanish for the next housekeeper I came across:

Me:  “Por qué son usted trabajando tan temprano?”

Maid:  “I’m Ethiopian, jerk.”

I decided to be more selective.  One more time…

Me:   “Por qué son usted trabajando tan temprano?”

Maid Two:  “Chinga Tu Madre”

This was not the response I was hoping for.  For the record I punched that maid in the ding ding.  I’m no longer welcome at that hotel.

So after an exhaustive effort that actually wasn’t that tiring I’ve decided to give up.  Plus, after chronically my epic quest for the truth I’ve actually given it a half second of thought instead of scheming to find the answer and have found the answer.  It’s not some new found initiative to rid the hotels of the world of dirty bed sheets or bath tub rings…they start cleaning that early because that’s when their boss tells them to start.  I never said I had the swiftest of minds.  Or maybe they are just trying for a real life version of “Maid in Manhatten” staring the sublimely talented Jennifer Lopez.

seattle slew

Seattle to Boston to Washington DC to New York to Seattle…

I had a meeting in Boston on Tuesday and instead of wasting a Monday flying across the country I decided to fly out the Saturday prior.  I figured that way I could just work remote on Monday.  Plus, I saved the company $150 bucks by flying on a Saturday vs. a Monday.  I know, I’m a model employee.  Okay, so my cousin lives in Boston and got tickets to the Bruins game on Saturday night.And alright, my aunt and uncle were going to   be in town on Sunday and invited me to lunch.  And oh yeah, my uncle was working a ski show that day.  And okay, it meant two and a half days in one of my most favorite cities in the world, but really it was about the cost savings and recouping the lost downtime.

Flight from Seattle to Boston – One of the bumpiest I’ve been on for a long time…it was awesome. 

I landed around 5:30pm, checked in around 6:00pm, and was at the hotel bar to wait for my cousin at 6:05pm for a 7:00pm game.  So there I was having a beer and an elderly gentleman struck up a conversation.  I’ll spare the details, but at one point he mentioned that he used to train horses.  Having little to no knowledge of horses I said the one horse’s name that popped in to my

head, “Seattle Slew”.  An odd comeback to his stated occupation, I know, but he didn’t seem fazed.  I subsequently found out he had been drinking since noon so that might have helped.  His reply to my attempt at conversation was, “now there was a horse that was gay”.  “I’m sorry, what?”, was my reply.  “Gay…Seattle Slew was gay.”  “Did you just say that horse was gay?”  “No, game.  That horse was game.”  “Oh, that makes more sense.”  And this was the clincher…with a sly, creepy, Clay Aikenesk smile he asked, “Are you gay?”  And there was a little lilt to the end of the question.  Thank god my cousin showed up at just that instant.  I gave her a hug and we exchanged pleasantries, much to my new suitors chagrin.  He slinked, or should I say stumbled, off.  Not the greatest way to start a weekend, but an amusing one. 

At the ski show the ski show the next day I met Glen Plake.  That is all.

Flight from Boston to Washington DC – A super quick and easy flight. 

Upon landing at Dulles International Airport I made my way to the taxi stand.  The line was huge.  I asked the attendant if this was the only stand or if there was another…he said “no” and handed me a pamphlet about the taxi service.  I crumpled it up and threw it on the ground.  He gave me another.  After twenty minutes and very little movement I started looking through the pamphlet and found the number to reserve a cab. 

A brief exchange between me and the dispatcher:

Me – “I’d like to dispatch a cab”

Dispatch – “What is the pickup address”

Me – “Well, I don’t know the exact address, but I’m at Dulles International Airport”

Dispatch – “Oh, we don’t pickup at the airport”

Me – “Then why am I standing in a line for your taxi service”

Dispatch – “Oh, no we don’t make appointments for pickups at the airport, we have cabs on site”

Me – “Well, that doesn’t seem to be the case.  I’ve been standing in line for twenty five minutes”

Dispatch – “Oh, well I’m showing cabs on site”

Me – “That’s weird because there are a ton of people in front of me waiting for cabs.  I hope they aren’t a group waiting for one big ass cab.  You guys don’t have U-Haul taxis do you”

 Dispatch – “I’m sorry for the delay, but I’m showing a lot of taxis are on their way so it should be too much longer”

Me – “Okay, well at least I have this nice pamphlet to read.” 

The shitty thing is that is the only taxi cab company that can pick up at the airport.  Upon arriving at the hotel I made the cabby come in for a beer, which he gladly did, but I had to pay.  I called it his tip.

Wednesday, I was in meetings all day, but I got out a bit early and got a jog in around the capital.  What a wonderful city…so full of history and it really is a great place to run.  I took my camera along and snapped some photos en route.

Flight from Washington DC to New York – the actual flight time was forty minutes…I still had to get up to pee.

I flew in to JFK and was staying downtown.  The flight might have only been 40 minutes, but the cab took a good hour and a half.  Well, there goes walking around the city for a bit.  Instead, I checked in and made my way in search of a bar that was playing the UW v UCLA game.  I found 5, but none had sound…they were either blasting rap or top 40 pop.  I finally gave up and settled at the fifth bar.  I found a somewhat quiet corner upstairs and settled in to watch the Bruins roll.  After the first quarter a group of eight to ten ladies rolled up, sat in front of me, and started doing shots.  At the half I was doing shots.  And the end of the third I had lost all interest in the game…plus, the Huskies were winning so I kinda gave up.  Thank god my meeting wasn’t until 1:00pm the next day.

Exhausted and tired I awoke Friday and checked in for my flight home…a middle seat was the only one available.  The idea of sitting middle for 6 hours was too depressing.  My meeting ended and I made my way to Newark on the train.  At check in I had some time so I thought I’d see about an upgrade.  Sadley, first class was full, but the guy found me an aisle…hooray.  The security line was massive, but for whatever reason the boarding pass checked guy pointed to the first line…hooray part duex.  At the gate the only restaurant had a line.  After waiting for ten minutes and not moving an inch I remembered a Delta Skyclub Lounge.  What the hell?  It was worth a shot.  I still had my suit on so I decided to big time them.  I opened the door and strolled in nodding and throwing a little wave of acknowledgement to some elderly woman in the back corner of the lounge.  I didn’t even get a second look from the people at the desk…hooray to the third power.  I settled in and set about putting a dent in their keg of Heineken.  I gave the old woman a high five on my way out.

Flight New York to Seattle – on an absolutely packed flight the only empty seat happened to be between and my compatriot next to me at the window.

i pee

For those that know me know that I’ve got the bladder of a pygmy goat.  It actually was a ground breaking triumph in the world of bladder transplants, but while it’s a great accomplishment in the medical community, it means I have to pee early and often.  In college I went to one of those “bladder buster” nights at the local bar where beer is half price until the first person has to pee…I lasted half a beer.  And even after I explained my miraculous goat bladder transplant story I still got my ass kicked.

Also, for those that know me know that I have a hankering for beer.  I’m quite fond of it actually.

So a proclivity toward beer and a pygmy goats bladder is not a good combination and has led to some interesting plane rides being confined to my seat during take offs and landings by that god damned illuminated seatbelt indicator and the actual nineteen fifty two Buick seat belt.  Desperate times call for desperate measures though.  Two such incidents come to mind.  Don’t worry; they are more funny than gross or anything like that.

Toronto to Seattle:

A snowy, blustery, bitter cold winter evening.  Of course it would be “winter” I suppose.  I wouldn’t expect it to be snowy in the summertime.  Sorry about that whole winter thing.  Anyways, I was traveling with my boss at the time, a good ol boy from the South who liked to throw one or two or eight back.  Thankfully, he traveled a fair amount and had status with Air Canada, whose flagship lounge happened to be in the Toronto airport.  We settled in to the cushy leather chairs and noticed the tap of Molson Canadian dripping with condensation from the ice cold liquid goodness that was housed inside.  For those that don’t know, everything in most lounges is gratis so the first round was on me.  So there we sat lamenting the weather and doing our damndest to convince each other that we weren’t getting out of there anytime soon.  It seemed with each snowflake that past or gust of wind that rattled the windows our conviction grew and naturally so did our thought process in relation to the beer on hand, “well, one more won’t hurt, we ain’t getting out of here anytime soon.” 

Much to my chagrin, about an hour and several beers later our flight was announced ready for departure.  “Shit.”  I knew I was in trouble.  So I waited until I was the very last person to be called.  They actually called for me over the loud speaker and then I went pee.  As I finally settled in to my seat I thought, “I can do this.”  In your best captains voice imagine hearing this over the loud speaker…”well folks, looks like we’re going to be a little delayed here as the plane gets de-iced.  Just sit back, relax, and we’ll be on our way soon.”  First off, relax?  Our plane, that’s about to defy gravity and soar in the air at several hundred tons and it needs to de-iced?  Comforting.  Second, if you’ve never seen a plane de-iced, it’s not something someone in my condition wants to see…a guy with a giant hose spraying a yellowish green liquid all over the plane.  I’m not making comparisons, but you can imagine the images it was conjuring up for me.  “Double shit”.  Somehow though, I got through it, but the pain and urgency was hurtling at me like a freight train. 

Again, in your best captains voice imagine this little nugget…”uh folks, because of the weather we’re currently nineteenth inline for takeoff, but we’ll be in the air shortly so sit back, relax, and we’ll be on our way soon.”  So now I’m doing the sit down pee pee dance on a packed plane of miserable, weary travelers.  Pinch, deep breath, deep breath, pinch, pinch, pinch and so forth.  Finally, we’re in the air.  I’m staring at that god damned little seat belt light trying with everything I could to channel…the force, wicca shit, telekinesis, voodoo, or whatever I could to get that little s.o.b. to turn off.  Ding goes the first bell…its working!  Ding goes the second bell…almost there…Ding…captains voice, ”uh folks”…I don’t even wait for the end of the announcement…I’m off for the bathroom…”the captain has turned off the fasten seat belt signal, but for your safety while seated, please ensure”…yeah, yeah, I get it…out of my way there’s a flood a comin!  Sadly, I was coming from the middle of the plane and two people in the back beat me to it.  Stand up pee pee dance time.  I hear the slide of the lock and I’m poised to pounce when suddenly this little kid slides from behind me in between the outgoing gentleman and myself and in to the bathroom, but before he closed the door he looked back with this sly little smile.  And that kids name was Shia LaBeouf.

Just when I was about to kick down the bathroom door the other person came out.  And thank god for that person timing because had they not come out at that exact time we might not have such cinematic masterpieces as Transformers II or Indiana Jones VIII.  Just kidding, it wasn’t really Shia.

More recently, I was traveling from Boston to Seattle.  I had been in meetings all day, was exhausted, thirsty, and hungry.  I had an hour or so before my flight so I stopped for a bite to eat and a couple beers at the airport bar dealy by the gate.  Honestly, just two beers.  As per usual, I wait until the last minute, take care of business, and get on the plane just as the doors are closing.  I guess I was more tired than I thought because just as I sat down I was out.  I awoke some two hours later (at least it felt like that) and we were still taxiing.  I asked the guy next to me if I missed the announcement that the pilot had decided to drive the plane to Seattle and he said “no”.  Uh oh, choo, choo…the freight train was coming!  Finally though, wheels up, first ding, second ding, but I can’t stand it anymore.  I’m going to burst.  We’re still climbing, but I don’t care.  I bolt out of my seat and as I get closer to the bathrooms I see that the stewardess’ are sitting with their backs facing the bathrooms.  Hazaah!  I’ll just slide in before they have a chance to stop me.  Closer, almost there…holy shit, the bathrooms are all locked.  Those bitches locked the doors for take off!  Now what?  Think, damin it, think.  I’m almost there and it hits me…okay…look panicked at the ladies and cover your mouth with both hands…when they notice you convulse slightly, but not too much so they freak out.  Success!  One of them springs up like a mother with a sick kid and shoulder checks the door like she was Cam Neely or Gordy Howe or some other hockey player.

So there I am doing my business, faking puke sounds, and all the while that god damned fasten seat belt signal is shining brightly in my face.

And before you say anything I’m quite aware that this “condition” is probably half physical and half mental.  And yes, I have traced the mental part back to a bit of childhood trauma.  When I was seven years old I got up to go potty and there before the bathroom door was the ghost of Christopher Cross.  I was paralyzed.  Or maybe I was memorized by the melodic and dulcet tones as he sang Sailing over and over again.  Two hours later I had pissed my pants and my mom found me passed out on the hallway floor.  To this day I can’t listen to anything by that bastard without wetting my self.

Jammies

There is a group of people out there…you know who you are, that insist on wearing “jammies” whenever they fly.  Now I’ve seen this elsewhere in the world…out to get the morning coffee and paper or occasionally at the grocery store, but without question I always see it at the airport and more times than not there is someone on my flight with jammies on.  I’m not talking about the matching top / bottom combos with little duckies, although I have seen this, I’m talking about the sweatpants and baggy sweatshirt, the stocking or baseball cap, the velour jumpsuit, and the overall ‘I just rolled out of bed’ look.  A flight at the crack of dawn is one thing, but at two o’clock in the afternoon? Or a two hour flight to San Francisco…really?  How uncomfortable are your normal clothes?  Are your pants made of burlap or your shirt stuffed with insulation or angry badgers?  Did that little snuggle bear bastard come out with a fabric hardener?  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t travel in a suit and tie, usually, but I just don’t understand this need for comfort on an airplane.  Ok, I’ll admit I slightly understand if it’s a trip to Singapore or down under, but I’ve been there several times and have never felt compelled to “comfy up” for the flight.  

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging, it just strikes as odd so I’ve decided over the years to start asking some questions when I encounter jammie enthusiasts sitting next to me.

Here are a few:

Me:  Did you forget to set your alarm?

Me:  Are you traveling to a mattress convention?

Me:  Holy shit, is the Sand Man on this flight?

Me:  Are those duckies?

Me:  Would you like my pillow and blanket?

Me:  Do you have that narcosleepy condition?  

Me:  Is your nickname ‘Juicy’?

Me:  I miss my bed to.

Mostly people get a chuckle.  Some get offended.  Actually, the only gal that got offended was the ‘Juicy’ lady, but if you are going to billboard that on your ass you’ve kind of got it coming. 

Sadly, however, I’ve drawn no conclusions or had a grand epiphany behind the reasoning so for now I continue to be inquisitive hoping to figure out the great mystery.

If there are any of you out there that want to share some insight I’m all ears.  I actually am.  They are quite big.  Sometimes they block out the sun.  My ears that is.

seat belt extender

9/20/2010 – Seattle to San Jose

Early morning flight to San Jose and it’s packed.  I’m an aisle guy, always have been, but on this particular flight I was stuck with a window seat.  After settling in I could see the guy that would undoubtedly be in the middle seat next to me.  I’m not clairvoyant or psychic or vegan or anything like that, but it was one of those moments when I just knew it would be my luck to have this very large gentleman squishing me in to the window for the next two hours of my life.  Sure enough.   Now I didn’t even realize they made such a thing, but as soon as Charles sat down he rang for the stewardess for a seat belt extender.  It should be noted I have no idea what “Charles” real name was, but to protect the innocent sir largeness will henceforth be known as Charles.  Here is an excerpt of our conversation:

Me:  “Should you be traveling in your condition?”

Charles:  “What?”

Me:  “Should you be traveling in your condition?”

Charles:  “What condition is that?”

Me:  “I didn’t think you could travel while in your third trimester.”

Charles:  “Third trimester of what?”

Me:  “Third trimester of having a food baby.”

Charles:  “Don’t talk to me for the rest of the flight.”

Me:  “Okay.”

Sometime later after the stewardess had made her rounds with drinks and peanuts…

Me:  “Are you going to eat your peanuts?”

Charles:  “Yes.”

Me:  “Okay.”

Pavlov

I’m no Carl Jung and I have no interest, credentials, or cranial capacity to continue Pavlov’s work in classical conditioning, but there has always been one phenomenon that no matter how many times I witness it, it baffles me.  It matters not the distance of the flight, the airline, the relative ease of turbulence or the country, departing, arriving, or otherwise.  I’ve seen it in the UAE, New Zealand, Chile, every province within Canada (not including the weirdo provinces like The Northern Territory and the Yukon or Ontario), throughout America, and all of Europe.  There is some sort of conditioned response to that “ding” when the plane has finally reached the gate upon landing.  That rush and furry of seatbelts unlocking.  The frenzy to jockey for position in the aisle and for what, to stand uncomfortably for 20 minutes pretending to look at your phone while the planeload of people ahead of you de-plane? 

I’ve come up with some theories as to what people are thinking:

“If I’m the first one out of my seat with my bag in hand I’ll get to get off the plane first, no matter if I’m in seat 42F.  I was first so I get to go first.”

“Holy shit, was that stewardess right?  Did my items in the overhead bins really shift during take-off and landing?  I better hurry up and check.”

“I think that guy across the aisle was eyeing my bag.  I better get to it before that asshole does.”

I’m an aisle guy and I never stand up immediately unless I’m sitting bulkhead or in the first few rows.  I just don’t see the point.  At times, this can infuriate the people sitting next to me.  I don’t care.  I pack my shit up and I’m ready to go, but I’ll keep my book out and just keep reading.  I look up to check how far down the line people are moving, but I don’t move until it’s my turn.  At which point I grab my laptop bag, close my book, stand and grab my overhead bag in pretty much one motion and I don’t delay anyone.

One of the funnier experiences I had was a flight from someplace in Europe to Zurich.  “Ding” and this older fellow sitting next to me in the middle seat springs up like some little kid got to the end of cranking the lever on one of those “pop goes the weasel” toys .  I didn’t move.  He’s looking at me, looking at the other people, and flat out did not know what to do.  I could tell he didn’t want to sit back down, but he couldn’t exactly stand straight up either so he sort of stood slanted with his head and shoulders on the back of the seat and his ass in the air.  A half stand, half sit if you will.  Now I thought I was stubborn, but he sitood there for at least twenty minutes.  By the end his legs were shaking.  I’m a jerk, I know, but because I haven’t been conditioned I wasn’t one of the first ones up so there really was nowhere for me to go…even if I had wanted to.  Thank god I always wear a Canadian flag pin when traveling abroad because that little Swiss bastard now hates Canada (aka Americas Hat).