These days, I never seem to be able to take a Bidnis Trip without forgetting to pack something. Maybe it’s a sign of Advancing Mental Decrepitude, this travel-centric CRS Syndrome, but what it mainly is, is annoying.
Take today, f’r instance.
I was so careful as I packed up my crap for a three-day visit to Sweat City. Hairbrush? Check. Razor? Check. Deodorant? Check. Toothbrush? Check. Clean undershorts and socks? Check.
Phone charger? Check. Gotta remember the phone charger, because three days on the road will drain the juice outta that BlackBerry like Dracula drains a blood bank.
But I was almost at the airport when I realized I had forgotten to take the BlackBerry. Fuck! Fuck! Fuckity fuck!
This is what happens when you get up at 0400 hours - the Butt-Crack of Dawn, as the Mistress of Sarcasm calls it - and try to do something as complicated as getting out of the house with your pants on.
So: Feel free to call me. But I won’t be answering the phone.
Take today, f’r instance.
I was so careful as I packed up my crap for a three-day visit to Sweat City. Hairbrush? Check. Razor? Check. Deodorant? Check. Toothbrush? Check. Clean undershorts and socks? Check.
Phone charger? Check. Gotta remember the phone charger, because three days on the road will drain the juice outta that BlackBerry like Dracula drains a blood bank.
But I was almost at the airport when I realized I had forgotten to take the BlackBerry. Fuck! Fuck! Fuckity fuck!
This is what happens when you get up at 0400 hours - the Butt-Crack of Dawn, as the Mistress of Sarcasm calls it - and try to do something as complicated as getting out of the house with your pants on.
So: Feel free to call me. But I won’t be answering the phone.
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