THE TRAVELIN’ LIFE (FEH)

I have learned, after years of traveling at the behest of the Great Corporate Salt Mine, that it pays to have a relaxed attitude toward the little bumps in the road of life.

A few years ago, I was scheduled to fly to Sweat City on a Continental flight that was running 45 minutes late. A frustrated Corporate Executive-Type was not happy about the delay, and he was taking it out on the airline’s gate personnel. Screaming, yelling, red-faced.

“Dammit, I’m going to miss my meeting!”

After the airline representatives politely (in so many words) told the asshole gentleman to fuck off, and after he had had a chance to calm down a little, I said to him, “Buddy, if a 45-minute air travel delay is all it takes to screw up your whole day, then you are scheduling yourself way too tightly.” Surprisingly, he nodded – and didn’t slug me.

When you travel, shit happens. Excrement takes place. Feces occurs. And so, I have learned not to sweat the small stuff.

Take yesterday afternoon, f’r instance, heading home to Atlanta after a routine two-day trip to the Headquarters of The Great Corporate Salt Mine. I left the office well ahead of my flight, knowing how dastardly and unpredictable the traffic can be in Houston, given the enormous amount of Road Construction overlaid on a Frantic Base Load o’ Too Many Frickin’ Cars.

But yesterday, there was no traffic.

I flew along the Sam Houston Tollway. Prepared with coins for the tollbooths, I was able to use the Exact Change lanes, which, mercifully, were not clogged with the usual Brain-Dead Road-Clods who pull into the lane and belatedly realize that they lack the Required Coin. Arse-holes.

No, there were no idiots, for once. And none of the usual wrecks and sundry disasters. Why, only the day before, some nutcase had jumped off a Tollway overpass, snarling traffic for hours. But that was then, and this was now.

No waiting to check in – I had done that in advance, on-line. The security line at the Delta terminal was practically nonexistent. Zoom. Hey, things seem to be moving right along. Sweeeet!

Ah, not so fast, Bub! The infamous Atlanta weather was not cooperating, and the dreaded ATC delay reared its ugly head. Boarding was held off for an hour, then another 45 minutes. Once on the plane, we sat at the gate for another 90 minutes. Wheels-up at 8:45, thereabouts: four hours late. Foo.

When the pilot told us that we were going to be in a holding pattern 100 miles outside of Atlanta, I wasn’t surprised. Meh.

Once on the ground at Atlanta, we sat for half an hour while airplanes were shuffled around at the gate. Crap.

Get out to where I pick up the jitney to the parking lot, only to see the damn thing cruising away. I wait ten minutes for another one to show up. Shite.

Get in my car, drive home. At this hour, the roads are deserted, and fortunately there’s little evidence that, only a few hours before, a full three inches of rain had fallen. I pull into Chez Elisson at 1:05 a.m.

Late? Damn right, I’m late...and I’m not exactly happy about it. But: I’m alive, I’m home safely, and there’s a warm bed upstairs with SWMBO in it. Things could be worse.