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I just can’t find it

Several years ago, I had a job. Actually, I still have one. But only because, I lost the job I’m referring to. I really lost it. To this day I don’t know where they put it. You see, I was doing everything they wanted. Then one day I went to the job, and it wasn’t there. The door was locked, and there was a sign stating you could get office rental information from Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe Realty. I understand they have brothers practicing law together. But this is beside the point.

Here’s how things went down; The job was off-site customer service, for an engineering firm. I was three-thousand miles away from home, in the middle of a desert, when I got a call. It was my boss who told me to stop what I was doing and hop a plane for home ASAP.

Actually, it was a voice mail message. Perhaps if I had answered the call I would have gotten better information. But, who answers their phone? If it’s urgent they’ll leave a message. Well, this time, it was important, and the message Sucked!

Coming home

Either way, I did what I was told, and caught a flight two days later. Afterward, I went to the office to find out what was up. As I already indicated, the door was locked. Two days after that I got a check in the mail for expenses, with a letter stating I was no longer needed.

Now, I understand about getting removed from a job. It’s happened to me a couple of times. But was my performance so bad, the company had to lock its doors, sell all the furnishings, and move to Sweden? Just to prevent me from coming back? If I knew where they were, I’d show up on their doorstep just to freak them out. Sadly, if I did that, their next move would probably be to Australia, to be as far away from me as possible. That’s the power of Mr. Ohh! It’s not a good superpower, but I’ll take what I can get.

My point

Now that you’ve been told that long drawn-out story, perhaps I should get to the point. The point is, I once had a job where I was traveling the US and Canada, fixing stuff. It was a good job except for one thing. I spent more time in airports than I did doing my job. This is bad.

Anyone who thinks traveling for a living is a great thing, is completely nuts. Being places is fun, but getting there is a pain in the rear. If it was so much fun, why do you think so many angry comedians tell jokes about flying? I’m not going to do that. Flying is fine. It’s just like sitting on a crowded bus, except if the driver hits the brakes a little too hard you fall five-thousand feet to your doom.

Falling for you

I actually did fall a thousand feet once. We were flying through a storm when everything suddenly went WOOP! The pilot came on the intercom, and told us all we now knew what it was like to fall that far. He was laughing. I didn’t think it was all that funny. Then again, he probably didn’t just take a bath in his neighbor’s rum-&-Coke. So, I guess it’s all in how you look at it.

The reason I’m telling you all this is my son went on his first commercial flight this week. He was a bit anxious. I tried to calm his nerves by telling him the story of my first flight experience. I haven’t told you people this before. The memories are just too painful. But since he brought it up, I shall regale to you the tale. If you don’t like it, blame him!

Job duties

I was nineteen. I had just gotten my first job. They were sending me to Chicago for training. I thought I knew it all. Of course, every nineteen-year-old does. The company handed me a ticket and told me not to be late. I’m guessing this was a test, or perhaps some kind of reality TV. If I never came back, they knew I wasn’t qualified for the job. But the ratings would soar.

My father dropped me off at the airport. He pulled over at the first door, let me out and left. I don’t even remember him saying good-bye. I’d never been to an airport before and I had no idea what to expect. I grabbed my huge over-packed suitcase and went inside looking like a serious dork.

I looked for the correct airline desk to check-in. It was a half mile away. So, there I was plodding through an airport, clueless of what was going to happen, but with a goal of finding a specific airline desk, and not get trampled by the mob. Can we say, “Freaked Out!” Sure, I knew you could.

Mistakes were made

When I found the desk, I somehow missed the three-million folks in line, and walked right up to it. Fear not, the line folks reminded me, several times quite loudly, with lots of colorful words. Consequently, I walked even further, to find the end of the line.

When I arrived at the desk, several weeks later, I tried to check my suitcase. Nope! I had not put an ID tag it. The lady gave me a tag to fill out and sent me back to the end of the line. My second arrival went much better. She accepted my bag, and handed me a card with a gate 54 on it.

I walked another half mile to find the security post. It wasn’t TSA back then. Thank heavens for that. I would’ve been arrested for cluelessness. I made it through and started my search for gate 54. The thing is, there are three concourses; A, B, and C. I had no clue. I figured A was the best place to start my search. Sadly, this happens to be the international concourse. Boy were they unhappy with me wandering around.

They checked my ID twice and gave me a security escort to my gate. Now all the other passengers were wondering what was wrong with me. The gate lady gave me a boarding pass and told me to wait for my row to be called. That sounded easy.

Can I be next, please

My row was twelve. After about three years, the lady said first-class rows one to ten, and rows twenty-five and up could board. They missed mine. Passengers got in line without me. Another announcement said above row twenty, then fifteen. I was sweating. She called almost every row but mine. Then she announced there was a problem, and boarding was being paused for technical issues. What the heck is technical, about getting on a plane? I wasn’t even boarded but was still causing problems. I was ready to turn around and go home.

Suffice to say, I made it to Chicago, did my training, and survived. I’ve flown many times since then. Sometimes, I’ve even made it through the airport without issue. Of course, this is only entering. Baggage claim is a horror movie all by itself.

But I Haven’t Had Enough Therapy To Talk About That!!