Glamour of the Traveling Job: Part Three
I boarded the plane in Denver, already delayed due to heavy snow on the runways. De-icing the plane was next. Green fluid poured down my window. I looked at my watch. Would I make it to Chicago in time to catch my connection to Newark, and another connection to Rhode Island? It was mid-afternoon and my original itinerary had me arriving at 9:00 p.m. I was planning to stay at an airport hotel where the sales representative would pick me up at 7:00 a.m. for a morning meeting.
When I contacted my travel agent to arrange the flights earlier that month, I knew that this three-day trip was bound to have an “adventure,” especially because it was in the middle of winter. My publisher was sending me to talk to science department chairpersons in Rhode Island, a school district textbook committee in Florida, and then to a northern state to conduct a workshop for the State Science Teachers’ Convention. All were considering purchasing a new biology book, and our book was being considered. Teachers often wanted to talk to an author who would be familiar with all the details of the book. The teacher’s workshop would be an hour-long session of hands-on activities from this book.
To the roar of engines, I reviewed my PowerPoint scheduled for the next day. As I munched on a sandwich and an apple I had taken with me, the pilots voice announced, “Passengers with connecting flights to blah, blah, blah and Newark should report to the service desk upon arrival as your connecting flights will leave before we arrive.” Oh, no, not this again, I thought.
The line at the service desk was 50 people long. The man at the front of the line was irate and shouting. Instead, I went to a phone booth and called my airline. “I need to go to Rhode Island tonight,” I announced to the agent on the phone, “Can you make that happen?”
“Let’s see… Yes, we can get you on a flight to Nashville, Tennessee and then switch to another airline that will take you to Providence. I will book that for you, but you will have to run to terminal B to catch that flight. Go NOW!”
I took off running with computer bag over my shoulder and carry-on dragging behind. How many times had I done this? Enough that I knew to wear my athletic shoes to the airport. Down the escalator, through the twinkling lights with musical accompaniment in the ceiling of the underground walkway, “Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me,” I called as I tried not to jostle other travelers. After running up the escalator to B Concourse, I made my last charge to the gate which seemed at least one-quarter mile away. Good thing I took time each day to work out in hotel gyms so I could make this sprint when I needed to, I thought. Just in time, the last passenger in line was boarding and even though I didn’t have a boarding pass, they had my name in the computer, so it was all good.
Whew, dropping into my seat, I settled in to read as we headed for Nashville. I pressed my call button after the seat-belt sign went off and asked the flight attendant which terminal I would leave from in Newark. She didn’t know and said I would have to ask the gate agent when we landed. My stress level was rising. Another dash? Security lines again? Would I make it? If I didn’t, then what?
The gate agent was helpful. “Go to the intersection of the two concourses,” he said pointing. “There should be a cart with a driver that can take you to the other terminal.”
“What if there’s no cart there?” I asked.
“Well, you’ll just have to wait. If the cart is on a delivery, it eventually will come back.”
“But I only have half an hour before my flight leaves.”
“There’s nothing else I can do. That’s how it works. I wish I could do more.”
Sure enough, the cart wasn’t there. I waited with a feeling of helplessness filling me. And suddenly it arrived. I gave the driver my terminal and gate number and asked if he could get there in ten minutes. He said he would try. Leaning on his horn to disperse travelers from our path, he floored his pedal and we speeded to my gate.
No luck! The plane had left. Back to a phone booth. I asked my agent if it was still possible to get to Providence tonight via any airline. She said I would have to change terminals again and that boarding on another airline would be in another half hour. I had given my cart driver ten dollars to wait for me. We raced through the airport again. Finally, I made this flight and arrived in Providence after midnight.
After a successful meeting the next morning, the sales rep. drove me to the airport for my flight to Florida. Everything went like clockwork compared with the previous day’s flights. The Florida sales rep. picked me up at the airport in his company-issued van. Immediately I noticed that the van was stuffed full, not with book boxes, but what appeared to be boxes of his belongings. Makeshift clothes lines were strung across in the back, with socks and underwear hanging with clothespins. Before I could ask what was going on, he said his wife had kicked him out of the house because she wanted a divorce. He said he didn’t have enough money for a hotel or apartment so had been living in his van for about a month. During dinner he told me his life story, very long, and very sad.
As he drove me to the motel, he apologized that all the better hotels were completely booked, so a “weekly rental” motel was the only thing he could find. Oh, no, I thought. I knew what that meant. But it was even worse than I expected.
The outside of the place must have needed paint ten years ago. The front door was missing a hinge and didn’t close. The lobby was filthy from dirt blowing through the door from the bare soil and weeds in the front. My room was worse than what I had already seen. Curtains hung askew on broken rods. The bed appeared lumpy even though covered with a dirty, thread-bare cover. The bathroom had not been cleaned even though clean towels hung from the rack by the cracked mirror. This is a place where bugs live, I thought, knowing I wouldn’t be opening my suitcase that night, but sleeping on my coat spread over the top of the bedcover.
The sales rep. stood at the doorway while I surveyed my accommodations. He apologized again and said he noticed the lock was broken on the door to the sidewalk. He went to see if there was another room with a lock that worked. On returning he informed me that none of the doors to the rooms locked! He said he would park right in front of my room and be in his vehicle all night so that I would be safe! This was a first for me, a seasoned traveler.
An uneventful night passed along with another successful meeting. My next stop was to the science teacher’s meeting in a northern unnamed state, to keep anonymous those involved. After another clockwork flight the sales rep. picked me up at the airport and delivered me to the hotel to check in. It was another run-down place with draperies that didn’t close and a television that didn’t work, but at least it was clean compared to the previous night. We went to dinner where we discussed the technology set-up I would need for my PowerPoint that would accompany the hands-on workshop. I had requested that the sales rep. be prepared with my technology needs. It was his job to supply the equipment. He said he had been too busy and hadn’t done it. So, the workshop would have to be done without PowerPoint. Hey, I am adaptable, I told myself.
I asked if he had secured a room in the convention center or hotel, wherever the Science Teacher Convention was being held. “No,” he replied, “just too busy.”
“But we need to have a room to do the workshop teachers are expecting. I saw the list of workshops that are being offered and you had to tell them you needed a room. By the way, where is the convention?”
“I’m not sure where it is being held,” he replied.
“What? Am I hearing you right? You don’t know the location of the place, and we don’t have a room or the technology we need to do this presentation? I have been emailing you almost daily about all this.” I felt like I was back in the classroom with a teenager explaining why he hadn’t done what he was supposed to do. “So how are you going to find out where the convention is? And will we be able to get a workshop room at this late date?” I was stunned--dazed. I thought of the hours of preparation I had put into this workshop, the money spent to fly here. I wondered what else I could have done to prevent this catastrophe. How could he sit there as if nothing was wrong?
“Well, we can go out on the sidewalk and ask people if they know where the science teachers are meeting. It must be in one of the downtown hotels or convention center.”
“What about calling your manager, or a science department chair you know?” I asked.
“Not my manager, I don’t want him on my case. And I don’t have teachers’ numbers with me.”
“What about online? There must be a site for the meeting online.”
“No, there isn’t. I already checked that earlier today. I think we can just go out in the street and ask people. Let’s go.”
So, there we stood, on a street corner in a major northern city, asking passers-by if they knew where the Science Teacher’s Convention was. And fortunately, after about one-half hour, a teacher walked by who told us the location. Back at the hotel, as I pinned the draperies together (always traveled with safety pins and tape), I wondered how he was going to get a room for my workshop. He said he would pick me up at 6:00 a.m. since he didn’t know when the meetings would begin, and he needed to secure a room. After I called for someone to fix my television, I watched a crime drama. I tried to forget this debacle and told myself this mess was not my responsibility. I also thought about my friends and family who suggested that I had such a glamourous life traveling! The next day he secured a room and put up signs giving time and location of my workshop. It went on without a hitch—just missing the Power-Point. Again, I thought about my friends and family who suggested I had such a glamourous life traveling!
Dear Reader,
If you missed the earlier entries in this series, Glamour of the Traveling Job Part One and Glamour of the Traveling Job Part Two, please click on the links below.
Thank you,
Linda