There are no bad owners, only bad dogs



I'm suspecting another "Why I hate business travel" episode is in my near future. Last week, my pimp asked me in an indirect and confusing way if I would go to HA. Thinking that she meant "home," as the initials of the company we work for could be interpreted as HA, I agreed. I had forgotten that she cannot remember the postal code for Hawaii, which is HI. So she was really asking me to go to Hawaii, but I didn't figure it out because HA does not mean Hawaii to anyone except her.

So how could that be bad? you ask. Well, I am way farther away from Hawaii than people in the US are. A lot farther away. It will take me 20 hours to get there. Here's the bad part: in coach. Once you've flown business class, you can't imagine yourself suffering through the bovine humiliation and suffering that the airlines euphemistically call "coach." Once you've had a little package on your seat that contains a sleeping mask, a pair of socks, some soap, a toothbrush, some refreshening spritzy stuff, etc., it's hard to imagine life without it. Once you've had the luxury Bose headphones, it's so hard to go back the the 99 cent disposable ones. Once you've been able to stretch out your legs, it's just humiliating, humbling, to go back to being folded up like something folded up. No more free booze. No more free champagne. No more warm nuts (unless I sit on them for a while before opening the packet).

I have no doubt that I will also be seated not on an aisle. I will be seated next to a Person of Size whose arms will violate my airspace. I will have to climb up and over people in order to pee. I will get a magazine in my seatback pocket which has already had the crossword puzzle started. I will not be able to complete a single item in the Mensa quiz.

Of course, once this is over I will be in Hawaii, which will be warm and balmy. That part will be good. I'll be in a hotel room that has cable tv. I miss cable tv.

Then I'll have to do the 20 hours in coach thing again.

I will be able to keep the frequent flier miles, and perhaps someday I will once again wish to board an aeroplane to use those frequent flier miles. I wonder how many it takes to get an upgrade to business class...

So the monkey and I are cooking Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday. What he's really fixated on is making sure there are enough mashed potatoes. It's quite clear that nurture trumps nature here, because I have always considered the mashed potatoes to be the backbone of the meal. No funky green bean casserole, because why would you eat that if you didn't have to? So we'll have turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, salad, and maybe some other stuff. We will not watch football all day, but only because we can't. I crave some American football. I haven't seen a behemoth man with a neck the size of my waist in a very long time. Maybe we'll go to the movies instead of watching football. We've already rented every watchable movie Blockbuster has to offer, and several unwatchable movies, as well. Sigh. Homesick.

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