On the plane home I was dreaming of a cold fresh fruit salad with a side of plain yogurt or maybe a crispy salad topped with rotisserie chicken, and it is the demoralizing cherry on top when I realize that I don’t even have half and half for my coffee in the morning.
In this age of crowd-sourced living, isn’t it time we crowd-sourced meetings? Shouldn’t there be a collective site where people from all industries can post meetings for which they need representation, and do not currently have resources allocated for said representation, or better yet do not currently have the emotional bandwidth for said representation?
When you’re working full time and raising two children, some things fall through the cracks. For me, it’s shopping and packing. I used to be a whiz at both. Now, I’m master of neither.
Wait, why is my finger in pain? Oh my god! Why is blood pouring from my finger? Where is my fingertip?!!? Oh. My. God.
I feel for her: I’ve never been a flight attendant, but I spent more than a decade waiting tables at the Jersey shore, and have had my fair share of verbal abuse from disgruntled customers. She’s handling it with class, saying nothing and keeping her cool, but I know she’s getting frustrated.
What is it about the narrow aisle and the distance from floor to ceiling that eliminates all sense of grace and capability? I’ve seen finely dressed women in 3-inch heels fall to their knees attempting to muscle up their suitcases, I’ve seen passengers give the little old lady a dirty look as she tries to get her bag into the compartment and inadvertently drops it on the head of an unsuspecting spectator, and sometimes I’ve seen gentlemen emerge, put their uncertainty aside and offer to help a gal such as myself.
Headlines of “Woman Found Smothered with Bosu Ball in Chelsea Gym” circulate in my head. I get officially creeped out and decide the laws of probability prevent me from dodging that particular bullet again. Maybe hotel room yoga is the way to go.
While we don’t need scented candles and slimming mirrors, we DO need deep stalls and soap dispensers that work. We need doors that open OUT and that do not have a 3 inch gap allowing curious eyes to gaze at our squat. We need cup holders for our lattes and shelves on which we can place our shoulder bags, we need to avoid that questionable liquid on the floor (urine or dropped water bottle?)
I need to stop doing this to myself and stick with my ridiculously expensive mediocre martini in an uncomfortable tallboy chair and just wait out my layover like everyone else. Essie, work on a shade called “Missed Connections,” I’ll buy it in bulk.
I admire her for this, and there was a time I wished I had that skill. But, I love bed more than I love tequila, so tonight as I kick off my heels and get into my sweats before midnight I say a little prayer of thanks for her.