At last, It’s The Summer of Love!

Welcome to another Summer of Love! As Karl takes a well-deserved (day-specific) break from his copious amount of blogging, he’s gathered some of his friends, colleagues and others that foolishly answer his emails to write his blog for him. This means that for the next few weeks, there will be some entries that seem different than the usual. Spelled correctly. More advanced vocabulary. More interesting topics. So, enjoy! The summer of love  is here again!

For those in the USA, please take a moment to remember the freedoms you have (for now) as we celebrate our Independence Day. For those in the UK, sorry about all the troubles a couple of hundred years ago. For everyone else (depending on the date line), hey! It’s Saturday!

My original plan (since we are free to write on anything we would like) was to document the life and tragic death of Michael Jackson, since it doesn’t seem to be getting much coverage in the press. However, I didn’t care when he was alive, and I care less now, so that’s out.

So, I decided to work on a topic I knew something about. Business travel.

I Hate Business Travel

Now, let’s discover why I hate business travel, shall we?

I’m Kevin Gilhooly, and I’m a business traveler. (“Hi, Kevin!”) The next time somebody tells me “You’re so lucky, you get to travel all the time“, I am going to punch them in the head. I have two stories from this year to explain why.

A bit of explanation is probably in order – I work for a rather large company named “mumble, mumble” and I work on a worldwide technical sales team. My team supports sales and technical sales people (wait for it …) worldwide.We’re actually not allowed to travel very much any more. We’re not allowed to travel at all unless there is a customer visit involved. On the bright side, when we do finally get travel approved, no matter where we go in the world, we get to fly in coach! So, to justify some trips, you have to find a customer to visit and then you can do whatever the real purpose of the trip was, as well.

The first example is a log of my trip to the UK earlier this year. This trip was really to teach the local staff about a spam prevention product that I support, since they all refused to read any of the materials that I had prepared, attend any of the video conference calls, or watch the video replays of the calls. I was asked to replace one of my colleagues on the trip – and the sales representative asked me directly instead of going through the proper channels. This is a corporate mortal sin. (It’s also the way I get 90% of my requests.) My boss refused the request and said there was no way I was going on the trip. Period. After almost three weeks of wrangling through emails and phone calls and escalations on both sides of the Pond, my boss told me I was going to the UK. Up until about a week before I left, I had no idea where specifically in the UK I was going. Sales doesn’t always plan ahead very well. Also, customer visits were harder to arrange than expected, but we finally had a number of customers to visit.

London is one of my favorite cities in the world, and a place I would go every year, if I wasn’t constantly attending family weddings. However, by the time this trip ended, I was shaking the dust from my feet and running for the plane. The difference? This was a business trip.

Once I landed on the other side of the pond, I didn’t have mobile phone access, so instead of Tweeting all day as I usually do, I just created a log file in the electronic notebook on my phone (phone function turned off to save the batteries – but it’s still a PDA.) I was posting the logs to my Facebook account each evening. Having the log files, rather than individual Tweets gave me the ability to edit for clarity before posting. While it gave me the ability, I did not always partake, as you shall see.

My director read them and found it hilarous, so I guess publishing was not a security issue. I’ve edited it slightly for this article, to correct the spelling errors and more questionable grammar, take out the most horrifying curses and to protect (most of) the innocent. Otherwise, it’s pretty much verbatim.  Enjoy.

My UK Sales Trip

Saturday (Departure)

I didn’t take notes!

Sunday (The Arrival Day)

These are some random notes I scribbled in the lobby of the hotel while I was desperately trying to stay awake since they didn’t have a room available and I really didn’t think I should sleep on the couch. It started out as good points and bad points, so far.

Good points:

• Free upgrade on the flight over.
• Comfortable seats.
• Free booze.
• Taxi queue manager had actually heard of “Staines.”
• Taxi quote wasn’t as bad as I feared.
• Guinness on tap at the hotel (this is not surprising.)
• Hotel has a restaurant and room service.
• Can hear trains rumble by while watching rowers on the Thames.

Bad points:

• Seat-mate forgot to lock toilet door on the plane, so almost walked in on him.
• Express immigration line was full of “problem” visitors (many long discussions.)
• Pre-booked taxi didn’t show after almost two hours and a page (so £31 for a ten-minute ride.)
• Mobile phone doesn’t work in Europe, so couldn’t call the taxi company (and probably didn’t have number anyway.)
• Driver didn’t know where hotel was, so had to turn on laptop to get address (told him the street, and when he was going to turn onto it, the hotel was right in front of us.)
• Room isn’t ready (maybe by noon), so no nap. (Considering stretching out on the couches in the lobby.)
• No idea when (if?) the sales lead is showing up. It’s chilly – that crisp London breeze, and the doors to the patio are open.

Random Thoughts:

• Why are so many people in shorts?
• Would get laptop back from storage and check WiFi but clerk may have a nervous breakdown – he seems stressed.
• Breakfast buffet is open but can’t deal with food right now. May just sit at bar until someone brings coffee.

After seeing some of the creatures wandering through the lobby, am beginning to think this is not a business hotel. Let’s just say one guy walked by in shorts and a shirt with patterns that clashed so badly, I said “Wow. Those don’t go together.” and I’m not known for my sartorial sensibilities.

My room has a view of the Thames River. It actually has a small patio. I know this because the doors to the patio were open when I got into the room. Note to hotel staff: just because it’s April doesn’t mean it’s warm enough for open windows!

Monday (The Internal Meeting Day)

Overslept – no wake-up call. Awakened by fire alarm test blasting  at 8:45am. Supposed to meet colleague at 8:30am.  Threw on t-shirt, ran downstairs to restaurant, no colleague. Was asked “Table for one?”

Arrived at 10:00am for a 9:15am presentation. (Wrong turn on walk over.) Colleague went first. Good job. Many questions. Left 10 minutes for my demo. My last technical presentation took an hour and a half. Actually finished early. Could see eyes glaze over – sales people are just not that much into technical information.

Going to another site to repeat the session this afternoon. Hopefully, I will get more than ten minutes.

Booked tomorrow’s Scotland trip – up and back on British Midlands airline. Had to book over the phone – can’t book online within 24 hours of travel. Need to extend hotel tonight, so we don’t have to schlep our luggage around. Hopefully, they won’t forget the wake-up call tomorrow.

Presented to my internal team – the ones I support from worldwide. Bloodied but not scarred. Took almost an hour and a half. Mostly sales questions.

Can’t get the hotel extended – so we’re moving tomorrow – before, during or after the Scotland day trip.

Birmingham meeting is actually in London on Thursday. This is a shame, as I’ve never been to Birmingham. On the other hand, I’ll be in London.

Suggested moving into the city since we’re going to be in London the rest of the week, anyway. Colleage suggested moving down the street.

Let’s see – tomorrow’s flight is at 7am. Need to be at Heathrow by 6am. Need to take suitcases to new hotel first. So, need to leave hotel by 5:30am. Need to pack, shower and shave. Hmm. Need to be up about 4:45am. Ouch. Probably should have less pints than I’m planning to have.

The afternoon’s and  evening’s progression:

• In The George pub, Staines. Hand-pumped Courage bitter. There is a God, and when He doesn’t drink Guinness, He drinks hand-pumped bitter.
• In the Boundary pub, Staines. Marston’s Smooth is very tasty. I think it’s better than Courage. Watching the cricket match. Life is good for now.
• My colleague asked the bartender where to get good fish and chips and without hesitation, he said “The Swan.” Is it just in the US where the automatic answer is invariably “Here.”?
• At the Swan Hotel, Staines. Fuller’s ales. Specifically, Fuller’s ESB. Can I move here?
• Dinner at the Swan. Salmon followed by fish and chips. Is that redundant?

The Holiday Inn on Bath Road will be my home the rest of the week, as soon as I can book it.

Fish and chips were excellent. Cheese platter for dessert was good, as well.

Starting to worry about the time I have to get up.

Double-shot of Jameson’s to close the night. Time to go pack.

Mentioned to front desk that I didn’t get my wake up call. Reminded him we pay corporate rates and we drink. Still no room available tomorrow night.

Setting cell phone alarm “just in case” per one of my Dallas colleagues.

Meeting in the lobby at 5:30am to head out in the taxi. If I were ever to die in my sleep, this would be a good night.

Tuesday (A Day in Scotland)

Woke at 3:30am. Abandoned hope of sleep. Checked email, packed. Since I was awake, naturally I got my wake up call. Had time for one coffee after checking out. Taxi was almost on time. Driver was slow and deliberate – not a good quality when trying to make time to catch a plane. Made it to new hotel to drop bags. Discovered there are two Holiday Inns on Bath Road. Miraculously, I think we both picked the same one in the corporate reservations system. Woman at desk was helpful, slow and deliberate. Almost had to kill her.

Made it to Heathrow with a couple of minutes to spare. Had to take belt off to go through x-ray machine – did not lose pants, but close. Did not understand this as do not have traditional Texas buckle. Weight Watchers must be working. Jogged to gate to catch colleague who had disappeared into the mist. Went through second security check – no disrobing required. Ticket class allows lounge access. Too bad I can’t drink my breakfast. It’s 6:30am.

Learned on the plane that British Midlands now charge for all drinks in economy – even coffee. Business class seats have yellow towels on the back – otherwise the seats are identical. I should have stolen one of the yellow towels to get free drinks.

Just found a £5 note I’ve had in my wallet for years. Coffee, please. (I knew it would come in handy someday.)

Four flight attendants on an hour-long flight. Impressive.

I was served tea instead of coffee. Not so impressive. Nice cup of tea, though – for £1.80. Pocket now full of heavy British change.

Brilliant concept: flight attendant hands you milk and sugar packets in a baggie so you have a trash bag for empty packets, stir-sticks and used tea bags. All airlines should do this.

Ears just popped – almost in Scotland.

Glasgow. 8:20am. Need a nap. Yet another airport with no ride apparent. This is not a good trend.

Wearing my suit – no wedding, no funeral. A new concept.

Found our contact, and he was on time. Also, a new concept. So far, so good. Brief meeting at Starbucks (oy vey) and we’re off to the customer site.

It’s Scotland, therefore it’s raining. Umbrella safe in suitcase at Holiday Inn Heathrow, so it won’t get wet.

Following the River Clyde out of Glasgow up to meeting. It’s a beautiful river.

Just passed an Italian bistro on the Scottish coast.

Bridge is out (constrruction) on way to customer – will now probably be late two days in a row. Looking for Diversion signs since they don’t have detours here.

Right on time, actually.

An hour and a half – good meeting. Now, off to lunch and then another customer.

Just ordered my first dish of haggis. This should be interesting.

Haggis rocks. That was very tasty. It’s really just like sausage, or ground meat, it’s just mystery meat.

Haggis, Neeps and Tatties is not a Scottish law firm. (It’s haggis, turnips and potatoes.)

Time to head to the airport, then back to the new hotel. We’re there the rest of the week, so I can actually unpack my suitcase.

British Midlands wanted a £66 fee to change to an earlier flight, as opposed to the £30 I was told when I booked. Decided I didn’t want to explain that high a charge to my manager or eat it myself. I guess we will kill an hour in the bar (we’re flying in the wrong ticket class for lounge access – flew up on fully-changeable ticket, flying back on cheap ticket – why is it never the other way around?)

Successfully “dropped trou” in security line after removing belt. It was only a matter of time. Oy vey. No response from anyone behind me in the line. Didn’t notice stiff upper lip or actually stiff anything – which is good.

Ordered first Guinness of the week to help forget “the flashing of the guard.”

I guess I need to start busking to get change to have a Coke on the flight home.

Switched back to hand pumped ale. I can get a proper Guinness at home.

Goal for this evening’s surfing – find a quick way to our London corporate offices for Thursday’s meetings. Also, find my old home pub (can’t remember the Tube stop near the White House Hotel, but it is one stop from Baker Street) and how to get to Porter’s. I need a copy of the Tube map.

On the plane back to the pub. I mean London.

I asked the flight attendant if I was on the right flight since they recheck ticket class stubs at the door. She said, “You are going to Barbados?” She belongs on Southwest.

My colleague has been drinking Strongbow which looked like light beer, but is actually apple cider – hard cider. Just bought a can on the plane – now I see why he drinks it. (Since it’s made from apples, it must be packed with vitamins.) I will have to see if they have it at the Tipp (editor’s note: RIP Tipperary Inn) at home – I know they have cider, but I don’t know the brand.

By the way, our host in Staines yesterday drinks Dr Pepper. They had it at Sainsbury’s. I missed it, so I had Coke Zero.

Almost back to London and it looks like tomorrow is an open day. I think we have two meetings on Thursday and Friday I head home.

I want to go to Porter’s for dinner tomorrow, in fact, I just got an email from them today to remind me that they are still alive and kicking. Traditional British food at fairly reasonable prices – a bit touristy, but good. It was the place I first had Spotted Dick, which is not as dirty as it sounds.

I should have had more haggis at the airport pub.

How much is 440ML in American? This is a large (hic!) can of (hic!) cider. Strongbow is my new favorite drink.

I am really digging British Midlands. They’re now selling train tickets for the Heathrow Express on the plane.

My ears are popping – we must be almost to Heathrow. It’s been a long day. I need dinner, maybe a round or two in the pub, and sleep. The pub comes first because I can sleep at home.

Checked into the Holiday Inn – one of two on Bath Road and one of at least three at Heathrow. It doesn’t suck. Wired and WiFi access.

Considering going to Stonehenge tomorrow if no meetings planned. Need to do train routing to Salisbury. First, dinner.

What’s the British version of “Peace, Out”?

Wednesday (The Open Day)

I abandoned my Stonehenge plans – there’s really not enough time, especially since I was just told tomorrow’s meetings are on our database product and not our anti-spam product that I support. It’s research time – I have to become a mail database expert overnight. (Here’s what I know so far: there’s a tool that strips and stores attachments from mail files. If you send 37 people a copy of your great presentation, only one copy gets stored on disk. This is much less costly in disk space. Cool.)

Somehow, my colleague is on the “bed and breakfast” plan and I’m not – which probably means I picked the wrong column when I booked the room online. His breakfast is included, mine would be £17.50. I’m not spending that much of my meal allowance on a meal I usually skip. (It did look pretty good – a traditional British breakfast.) I had coffee which was better than the instant coffee in the room.)

Saw second Microsoft “Windows … Life without walls” billboard. If there are no walls, what’s holding the windows in place?

On the Piccadilly line, bound for Piccadilly Circus and the Bakerloo line. I love the tube.

Almost an hour on the tube. Heathrow is a long way out. We will need to take the Heathrow Express train tomorrow to make better time into the city.

It’s really too warm for a long-sleeve shirt.

Walked through St James Park to Buckingham Palace. Was not invited into the palace. Watched many tourists walking into each other’s photos (bad) or into traffic (very bad.) My feet are starting to hurt.

Walked back across the park in search of sustenance.

Stopped for a pint at The Chequers. Sitting near Bullshit Corner. I want this sign. Pub grub for lunch – sausage and onion baguette with chips.

I didn’t see a tube map at the station and I need one.

Just passed a store that has pre-owned Patek Philippe watches. How freakin’ expensive are they new if there’s a used market?

You can see a lot of London while looking for an AmEx ATM. This is unfortunate, as my feet are killing me and I have money. However, my partner does not.

Stopped at The King’s Head to rest foot. There seem to be quite a few pubs here. Seeing if Fuller’s London Pride ale cures blisters.(It does not.)

No matter what time you enter a pub, you will not be the only customer.

Now, for the dramatic (and rather bitchy) conclusion to the day. To any of my colleagues that know who’s with me, just pretend you don’t, and read along.

After wandering around London with no real plan, it was time to head back to the hotel on the tube. Found the Piccadilly line, and dozed all the way back to the Terminal station.

We took a bus from Heathrow to the hotel since you have to pre-book a cab, and we hadn’t. I would have just gone to the terminal to get a regular cab, but colleague seemed to be in a huge hurry. He tried to call the hotel, but couldn’t get connected. I remembered the front desk told me this morning the U3 bus went from the hotel to the airport, so we got on it when it pulled in. I never saw the hotel, and pretty soon we seemed to be going into the neighborhoods. Colleague asked driver where the Holiday Inn was. Driver said the second stop. We were at the twelfth stop. Oops. So, we got off, walked across the street, and waited for the bus going the other way. I considered it an interesting tour. Colleague was not enjoying the ride. Apparently, it’s my fault, as much bitching ensued, directed at no-one, but aimed at me, and yes, I am sensitive about this.

Colleague now in charge of navigation since I am obviously a dumb-ass. He gets off the return bus three stops early and then walks two and a half blocks in the wrong direction to the Sheraton. Unfortunately, we’re in the Holiday Inn. He looks at me and says “Now, what?” So, now it’s my problem? I thought I was a dumb-ass. Why are you putting a dumb-ass in charge? I mentioned he might have gotten off too early, and he looked at me like I had two heads. Back-tracked. Went into a Chinese restaurant to ask directions. The Holiday Inn is a “ten-minute” walk in the other direction. Oops. I think that means I was right. We walked back to our hotel. I lost him near the end since I couldn’t keep up. My feet are killing me. I may be a dumb-ass, but when I was lost, I was riding in air-conditioned comfort.

So, lesson confirmed today: when on a sales project, when it goes south, you were in charge (whether you knew it or not). You will be berated when the mistake is discovered. If they screw up, it’s never mentioned, you’ll just get put in charge again. When you’re right, you’re ignored and they’ll abandon you in the end.

You can also blog whatever you want about it because none of them understand blogs or Facebook.

I’m ready to go home. I never thought I would say that I was ready to leave London, but I’m done. I was not meant to be in sales. Fire, Aim, Ready just makes no sense to me, and I can’t get any of them to Aim, anyway.

Thursday (A Day in London)

The Holiday Inn has no soap in the bath. It has a squeeze bottle of hand soap by the sink and a squeeze bottle of shampoo in the shower (both wall-mounted) but I really don’t think you’re supposed to carry a handful of soap into the shower with you and I hope you’re not supposed to drip across the bathroom to get soap in the middle of your shower. I just used shampoo for soap, since I have normal hair pretty much everywhere.

Feet still throbbing. Changed shoes. Now ready for the last day of the UK tour, as feet are throbbing in different way than previously. I am beginning to see why one musician said he isn’t paid to perform, he’s paid to travel.

We’re going into the city, method unknown at this point. Taxi, Tube or Train + Tube are all options – and all have their good and bad points. I will have no opinion – I’m not falling for that again.

8:48am. Taking the tube. Train arriving in six minutes and only 19 stops to go.

Have a Zone 2-6 ticket, per colleague. Going to Zone 1. Exiting the station may be interesting. I was trying to get a Zone 1-6 ticket when he told me what he had. Figured we should argue with the transit police together.

9:23am. We’re at Barons Court, still in the ‘burbs, basically. Colleague on the phone – sounds like we may be late. Train is going underground, so it was a short call.

9:52am. Waiting outside Waterloo for our host. That was actually a quicker trip than I thought.

Turnstiles at Waterloo locked on my colleague’s tube pass. “Seek Assistance.” Bored guard lets us through the locked turnstiles. It looked like she was considering explaining that we had the wrong tickets, and decided against the bother.

Made the meeting on time. An hour-long discussion – I think it went well.

Had a ham, cheese and tomato panini, a bag of cheese and onion crisps and a metric Dr Pepper for lunch in the the company cafeteria – in other words, a traditional British lunch. Added a Mars bar since sweets seem to be mandatory.

The corporate cafeteria doesn’t take cash, only smartcards (or local badges.) We had to each get a temp badge to buy lunch. We also have to remember to cash it back in before we leave – or have to eat more since there is still money on the card. Wondering if the company thinks many guests will forfeit the £2 deposit to keep such a magical card as a souvenir. Me? Notsomuch. (Another site  had them at one point, but on my next trip were back taking cash, as well. It’s great if you have a badge, but a pain otherwise. My US badge didn’t work in England, so I had to get a temp card, anyway.)

Some of the trash bins are color-coded. This is very useful unless you don’t know the code (or are color-blind, I suppose.) Left all my crap on the tray – let the professionals sort it out. (I was not alone in this.)

The smartcard machine only takes bills, but it only returns coins. Fifteen pounds in coins can be heavy.

One more meeting to go. Pre-meeting at 1pm, real meeting at 2pm. This was a long way to travel for an hour to ninety minutes each.

Never try to help two salespeople meet. It is more effort than you would expect, since neither is on time or paying attention. Stick to herding cats.

Meeting was actually at 2:30pm. Very interesting customer. I think we were learning from him.

Done with meetings – off for my own personal adventures in London. I managed to find Porter’s English Restaurant by going to Covent Garden on the tube and walking in larger circles until I saw the TGI Fridays, which is hideous but right down the street from Porter’s. (When traveling, I always think I should just stand outside random TGI Fridays and Starbucks and apologize to any natives that go by.)

An aside: I get lost so often trying to find the same places, that I have landmarks. I used the TGI Fridays trick to find Porter’s last time I was in London.

I was going to go back to the hotel and change before venturing out into London, but decided I didn’t have that much time to waste. Besides, rush hour was starting and I would have been standing most of the way. Best to have a couple of pints down first to prepare.

Just hit with an amazing feeling of relief that the week is done. It may have been the bitter. (Note to Spousal Unit: you are no longer the only one who can drive me to drink.)

Steak and Cheddar pie with chips. Tremendous. Porter’s has amazing puff pastry for their pies. However, chips of the week goes to The Chequers whose chips tasted like battered mashed potatoes. Double-amazing.

So, I started the week with haggis, and ended with Spotted Dick. I noticed that pie, pudding, cappuccino and a bottle of bitter I ordered was four pounds cheaper ala carte than the fixed-price pie, pudding, coffee and half-bottle of wine.

Suddenly wondering if I can find a cricket bat.

Two words I never thought thought I’d say to a taxi driver (or anyone) without the Spousal Unit in tow: “Harrods, please.” Where else would you go for a cricket bat on a Thursday evening? Harrods not only had cricket bats, they also had green Harrods bags shaped like a cricket bat to carry it home. (Note to Spousal Unit: I did not choose the £189 professional model.)

Harrods can also charge you in US dollars so they can give you a bad exchange rate instead of having to wait for the bank to give you a bad rate. (They also had a £12,000 foosball table but that made my head hurt.)

Now, back to the hotel to see if it fits in my suitcase, since cricket bats are on the “specifically forbidden carry-on items” list. How many cricket bats are being carried around the US, anyway?

An older couple standing by me on the train is getting frisky. Smooch, smooch. Ick. If a couple publicly kissing is younger than I, I think “Get a room!” If they’re older, I think “Viagra commercial?”

I took the infamous bus from Heathrow to the hotel – and found the proper stop, just outside the airport. It’s not a short walk, but it’s shorter than yesterday’s.

The cricket bat fits in my suitcase. Hurrah! Thank you, Harrods!

Someone from the hotel read this before it was published, because there is now a bar of soap in my bathroom.

It’s time to go home.

Interlude: The Kumars Run a Bar

I went down to the hotel bar for a quick adult beverage and to see if my colleague had returned from the city yet. He had not, but I had a most amusing time.

First of all, if Ashwin Kumar had ever just opened a bar instead of letting his son run a TV show, I’ve found the bar. (If you’ve never seen The Kumars at No. 42, you owe yourself.) He would almost be Basil Fawlty on an incompetence scale, but he is exceedingly polite, as most Indians I have met are (a positive stereotype for a people scarred by doing too much remote tech support.) The head bartender (and I believe bar manager) is a completely overworked, almost elegant Indian gentleman trying to keep order, instruct the (incompetent in his eyes) staff and serve drinks to his customers, and between his running around and the customers either confused, annoyed or bemused by the service (depending on the number of drinks they’ve consumed), it is quite a show.

One gentleman ordered two pints to go before paying his tab and mentioned that the beer was preventing him from killing someone. I didn’t think the service was quite that bad, but we all have our tolerance levels. This gentleman is also dear to me because he had a sneezing fit that was comperable to (if not greater than) one of mine, and he said “I must be allergic to beer.” (I would never think such a thing. I would blame it on the glass.) I told him he needed to drink faster or slower, but I wasn’t sure which. He said faster was always better, so I deferred to experience. I also told him if the top of a beer made him sneeze, he should just send it back and start over.

I ordered a Scotch and Coke, because the Beatles used to drink it a lot (according to many quotes in various books), and I’ve simply never had the nerve to order it in the States because the bartenders there generally know me, and they don’t like ruining good Scotch. I told “Ashwin” to use the house Scotch so nothing of much value would be harmed. (It was Bell’s, which is probably just above rotgut.) Scotch and Coke with cheap Scotch and Pepsi (curse hotel tie-ups with the wrong brand) is actually not bad. The Coke (Pepsi) takes the edge off the Scotch, so if you don’t like Scotch, it would probably make it palatable. It’s not like Boone Farms wine, and it shouldn’t have an umbrella, but if you don’t like the taste of Scotch, this would help. Personally, I like Scotch, so while it was an amusing little drink, it’s not going to make my usual rotation. “Ashwin” asked if I was going to pay cash or charge it to my room. I said “room”, he rang it up, I said “Can you just keep it open?” and he said “No, your room number goes there, and sign it please.” So I did.

I ordered a refill (eventually.) Same procedure. That’s when I began to notice everyone around me was running a tab. Considering I’ve had bartenders start tabs for me when I walk in off the street into a bar I’ve never visited (even when the locals have to pay cash per round), I found this strange. Bartenders usually look at me and think “He’s good for it and he’s going to need more than one.” So it goes. Maybe “keep it open” is not English, but American.

After that, I decided to apologize to the gods of single malt, so I ordered Glenfiddich, one of the few single malt Scotch whiskies I can pronounce sober. (Did I do that joke already?)

Actually, I decided to see how long it would take to have him ask me if I wanted another drink. After serving at least four people and having a discussion with one about how to mix his tomato juice (the guy also asked for his bill, but that part was missed), and then spending five minutes actually mixing the tomato juice (with a splash of Tobasco and something from the seltzer gun), he finally asked if I would like something else. That’s when I asked for Glenfiddich. They were out. Well, he couldn’t find the bottle, so he announced they were out. There were two different vintages of Glenfiddich on the menu, so that’s out of a lot. I asked what single malts they had and when he got to Laphroaig, I said that was fine. I said “straight up, with just a couple of rocks.” To my horror, he put Coke in it. So, I sent it back. He looked pained as seven pounds fifty went down the drain, but nobody said anything about Coke. I had planned to tell him I was done with kids’ drinks and wanted a real one, but I didn’t think he would necessarily understand. Maybe that would have helped. Coke and single malt? Shudder.

After that drink order, I was awarded a small bowl of crisps. They were a bit stale, but it’s the thought that counts. I’ve been in this bar every night since I’ve been here, and he’s the only one who’s ever gotten me a drink, so I really thought I would be a regular by now.

I may have to go back later this evening, since one of the goals was to meet my colleague, since I left him in the city hours ago and he does like a Scotch to finish the evening. I would really like to know if he gets less manic as the place clears out (I doubt it.) I would also like to know if I go and say “I’d like to run a tab” first, if that would help. I’ve been tipping them on each round, and that didn’t seem normal with the crankier customers that were leaving. One of the other staff told me they’re open until 1am. I don’t have a plane until 2:30pm tomorrow afternoon. This could be a fun night. (Note to Spousal Unit: it’s called research.)

Friday (The Travel Day)

I wasted as much time as I could in the hotel but finally had to head to Heathrow. I counted £20 in change to exchange at the front desk for bills (“unchange” in the Urban Dictionary – accepted for publication last night.) Desk clerk just applied it to my bill. Brilliant.

Taxi ride was five minutes, eight pounds and worth it. Driver refused my tattered £20 note that has been in my wallet for ten years or so. He told me to change it at the bank.

Managed to hit a lull at all the lines at the airport which is a bit miraculous. I would rather have the miracle of an upgrade, but there’s still time. Was one pound something over in suitcase weight (damn you, extra PC and topcoat) but was let off with a warning. New security question: “Have you had a laptop or any electronics repaired while you were here?” Is there a master list of repair shops likely to put bombs in broken electronics? If you have a receipt from “All honors to Allah” Electronics Repair, do they confiscate your laptop?

Made it through boarding pass checkpoint and prepared for the X-Ray walk of potential exposure. Security did not make me remove my belt (whew!) or shoes. Sailed through. Passport Control found the stamp from Sunday and decided to let me leave. Next was the separate shoe security – your shoes are scanned while you walk by with your carry-ons. I wonder if the Shoe Bomber is pleased with all the stupid security procedures he caused.

Considered a day pass to the Admirals Club since I had two hours to kill but decided I couldn’t drink or steal enough bitter lemon to make it worthwhile.

There is a Krispy Kreme in the terminal. My head almost exploded.

Decided to get lunch at the fake Irish pub. Cappuccino was very good. Ham and cheese sandwich was a panini, like yesterday, but an Irish panini rather than British. Chips were really good, but The Chequers chips are still the best. When you want it done right, go to the pub. Eight pounds, which was not bad for airport food. It all seemed cheaper this trip.

Decision point: More cappuccino? I could see how high my heart rate would go. Last pint? Alcohol before a flight, yadda yadda yadda. Go to Harrods? Wandered through on the way to the pub, nothing jumped out at me except really high points food. So it goes. I guess I should buy duty-free booze on principle. I may try to find a book. I may even go to Krispy Kreme. Who am I kidding? One last pint, it is.

The barmaid just winked at me when I approached the bar. Now, that’s what I expect in a pub. Maybe she should give “Ashwin” customer service lessons. Maybe the Irish are just more friendly.

Gave her the ancient £20 note for a pint of Guinness. She accepted it happily and gave me an ever more tattered £5 in change. She then asked for it back and gave me a newer one. I need to start mystery shopping pubs. It’s where customer service excels.

Forty-five minutes or so until gate assignment. Time to wander, although I will miss the barmaid of the year.

Forty minutes and £70 cash. If I had ovaries, this wouldn’t even be a challenge.

Harrods knick-knacks purchased. Decided against trying to find toast to sample marmalade. Would probably be overkill to spread marmalade on a Krispy Kreme.

Waiting for a gate assignment – an interesting concept. You can’t just get to the airport early and crash at the gate because they don’t tell you which gate it is until an hour or so before takeoff. It’s the gate where the plane from DFW landed this morning.

Gate is now “Please wait” which is a bit ominous. The plane should be here – it arrived this morning as the matching flight inbound.

Switching back to Dallas time on PDA. It’s now 7am. Suddenly sleepy.

Gate 36. Time to go.

Find sign for gates 23-50. Staring down hallway to infinity. Sudden flashback to long walk in from gate on Sunday. Starting to regret heavier purchases.

Old fart reunion in front of me. Old guy describing plane seating layout and facilities, then realized he was remembering a Continental 777 and we’re on an American 767. Thanks for the loud, booming lesson anyway, plane expert. Beginning to think this is an AARP package tour flight. I may need to put the iPod on in self-defense. Blue hairs now discussing coffee drinks. Apparently, cappuccino is bad.

Next year, this could be me. Cyanide, anyone?

Older guy is getting frisked by security. Hopefully, not a Viagra commercial.

Kids and grandkids inventory discussion commences. Where is the plane expert when you need him?

Holy crap, this is a small seat. It feels like an MD-80 seat from the “pack ‘em in” era. On the bright side, there isn’t much of a view, although I can see business class. If you ever meet someone from the corporate internal finance team, kill him. As usual, I think I got the upgrade on the wrong leg of the trip.

Managed to use the toilet while the AARP brigade was still tramping onboard. That will save one trip climbing over whomever is next to me.

Seatmate seems reasonable and about twenty-five years below the average age in the gate area. This is a blessing. Younger guys don’t talk about their grandkids. Break out the iPods and let’s get out of here.

I miss the 777 that brought me over. This plane blows chunks.

Powering down for takeoff. The next time we land, I can turn the phone on again.

8:52am Dallas time – takeoff, twenty-two minutes late. After initial climb completed, flight attendants played security video. Oops.

A brief prayer of thanks – just prior to taxi, a flight attendant told me seatmate there were open seats. He left and never came back. Now, I have room to spread out. Thank you, Lord. It’s not business class, but I will gladly accept it.

Crew is very chatty, but only among themselves. Wondering how much we will see them in the next nine hours.

My next steps will be in America. My phone will work and some people will speak with a drawl. Plus, it’s the start of the weekend.

Stroganoff or tortellini? The equivalent of Gas chamber or firing squad?

Delta gives you one free drink with dinner. American, notsomuch.

The stroganoff was not bad. Even if it had been, it wasn’t that much. On the plus side, the sauce blended well into my shirt.

You know you have left Europe when asking for coffee just instantly gets you a cup of brown liquid instead of “Cappuccino? Espresso?”

Idly wondering (again) what would happen if I started singing along with my iPod. As Oasis is playing currently, given my fellow passengers’ ages, probably rather loud protests. Maybe if I had champagne music instead of Champagne Supernova.

I always thought an interesting music video premise would be some poor bastard in coach starting to sing a song,and  randomly people join in, and then they find the band is in First Class, with their instruments. Just a thought. (“Don’t Look Back In Anger” is playing, and that’s a bizarre but guaranteed audience participation song for Oasis, so I just had a vision of someone in the back of the plane starting with the chorus, only to have Noel Gallagher wander back with his drink to pick up at the start of the verse. Of course, the flight attendants would probably just chase him back to his ticketed cabin.)

Wouldn’t it be interesting if your iPod could tell you if anyone else on the plane was listening to the same music? You could find a kindred spirit.

Dear Noel Gallagher – What is a freakin’ Wonderwall, anyway? (Besides a George Harrison soundtrack album.)

Seven and a half hours (or therabouts) to go. It may be time for some sleep, although I am a bit afraid of what I may dream.

Not even Oasis can drown out the toilet flushing right behind your seat.

Listened to Bob Newhart, Jay Mohr and Gordon Ramsety read their books; so not much sleep.

Turning off electronics. I’m home.

INS needs more people – six lines for 280+ people coming in is not enough. Luggage was actually coming off the carousel as we arrived from passport control. Limo driver was actually in the lobby with a sign.

Half-hour down LBJ and Central, and I’m home.

Postscript

So, I survived. Barely. There were any number of people who said “England? I would love to go to England!” To them, I say, “Go on vacation on your own dime, because going on a sales trip will give you migraines and nightmares.”

The “unchange” turned out to be a brilliant idea for everyone except corporate accounting, who flagged my expense account for having an “other” expense on it. I had to explain (twice) why I had a negative number on an expense account that didn’t fit into any of the normal categories. They didn’t understand “I paid part of the bill in cash.” Twits.

My Israel Product Demo Trip

Tuesday (The Crisis Day)

Recently, one bright Tuesday morning, I was supposed to have a conference call with my boss – nothing critical, just our usual every-two-weeks chit-chat, which had been rescheduled from the previous week because I had an actual crisis meeting that over-lapped with it. Eight minutes after the call was supposed to start, he sent me an instant message and said he had to cancel, since he had an “emergency in Israel.” No problem, a crisis is a crisis. Then, he asked me how I would install a bunch of Lotus Notes clients automatically. This was a warning sign.

Less than an hour later, he asked me to join a conference call in progress. His emergency in Israel was now  rapidly becoming MY emergency in Israel.

It seems there is a customer outside Tel Aviv that wanted to run a proof of concept (basically, a free test of some of our software) on his production computers. Then, it turned out they specifically wanted our software that isn’t actually released yet. So, now, they wanted someone to install beta software on their production servers.(“Beta” is so-called because it’s “beta” than nothing.) This is dangerous,  because if you break someone’s production computers, they tend to send lawyers after you, and it’s doubly dangerous because beta  software tends to break frequently.

So, I suggested we get someone from our services group to lead the project at least in name since they have a standard contract that prevents them being sued when they break things in production. Services has much better lawyers than we do in sales.

That took the rest of the day. Someone up the management chain in Europe finally found someone in the Netherlands who could run the proof of concept in Israel and he has basically the same skills as I do, so there didn’t seem to be much point in my going over. Still, my boss was adamant that I was in fact needed for the project, and should make plans to go. Just make the reservations, but don’t book the ticket yet.

Wednesday (The Panic Preparation Day)

It was determined that the proof of concept was starting Sunday, outside Tel Aviv (remember, the weekend there is Friday and Saturday.) To get to Tel Aviv for a Sunday morning start, I would have to leave Dallas on Friday evening. So much for the weekend. I would also be there until next Friday, so I would miss the day off for the Fourth of July, and wouldn’t get home until Saturday morning.

I booked my ticket on Delta – $2,500 round-trip. Non-refundable. Coach. I actually couldn’t book it without three levels of management approval unless it was revenue-related for this quarter so I naturally said it was revenue-related. I wasn’t really sure how they were going to get revenue from a proof of concept that was going to end after the current quarter ended, but that was my story and I was sticking to it. No signatures necessary.

Now, I had to consider my rather complex personal life. What was I going to miss while I was away?

The Spousal Unit started hyperventilating when she realized I would miss a Sparky’s Pals volunteer meeting (and probably being the “other” volunteer in attendance besides her) and the photo shoot for her sister’s friend’s rather large family on the Fourth, plus all the AirHogs baseball this weekend. Then, she started frantically doing laundry (and cursing under her breath bilingually) since I hadn’t worn long pants since my last business trip to Chicago in May. Luckily, Tel Aviv is business casual, so I didn’t need to find and clean my suit. She gave my Saturday-night baseball ticket away to a friend, so she wouldn’t have to go alone. I dropped my photography class a week before it was completed since there was no way I was going to get the rest of my homework done from Tel Aviv. I moved my doctor’s appointment out two weeks since I now had a conference call in the morning to discuss who was doing what the next week, and I couldn’t be on a conference call while an older gentleman was telling me to turn and cough.

As I started working through all this crap, I was really dreading the trip. I don’t like working on production servers. I don’t like working with someone I haven’t even met yet who’s actually leading the project. I don’t like going to places where the online travel reservations system auto-generates a warning letter when you make a reservation (even though the warnings were pretty minor.) I don’t like the Spousal Unit freaking out, although you’d think I’d be used to it by now.

Still, by the time I went to bed, I was almost looking forward to it. I’ve always wanted to visit Israel, and I’d get reimbursed for the major costs of this trip. Tel Aviv is a coastal city with beaches and 24-hour bars. It probably wouldn’t take the whole week to get the project done. On the project plan, my name was on the easiest part – and the one most likely to work if everything before it worked. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I wasn’t sure it was going to be fun, but it probably wouldn’t be torture.

Thursday (The Oops Day)

I got up on Thursday and there was a note from my contact in Israel with a security form to complete. I filled it out and sent it in. Then, there were two notes from my lab contact who was supposed to assist me if I had problems. He was concerned about having to take calls outside business hours in his local time. Lab people do not understand time zones. As I worked my way backwards through the mail, I found the next note – “Cancel all travel plans. The proof of concept is not starting next week.”

The customer did not have room for us to work in their facility.

We had a conference call this morning and most of us determined that not having space was hardly a show-stopper when we could do most of the work at the corporate office. However, to the Israelis, it was a show-stopper, and it’s their show. My boss is having surgery next week to repair a small tear in his stomach. I think I know what caused it.

So, I’m staying home after all. The next time I travel on Delta within a year, I have $2500 to apply to the ticket cost, minus $200 and the difference in fare.

This Week’s Update

The project plan from Israel was updated this Thursday (the day before yesterday.) My part starts on Monday. Nobody has told me yet and I would have had to leave yesterday to get there on time. Plus, the Israeli workweek starts Sunday, so I’m late. Had any of this happened, I wouldn’t have been able to write this, since I would be on a plane.

That’s why I hate business travel.

Enjoy your vacations!