I hate traveling for work. In a nutshell, it means performing work-related activities outside normal working hours, while being told how “lucky” you are to be doing so. Even if the destination is one I’d generally consider desirable, it’s not fun when all you see is the airport, the drive from the airport to the hotel, and the hotel itself.
I have “TRAVEL BAD” in my permanent record at work, but I still have to travel on occasion. Recently I had to spend part of my weekend traveling to a professional conference. Sunday evening we registered for the conference. My company held a “Hospitality Suite” for current and prospective clients, wooing them with cocktails and appetizers.
Monday morning started with a large general session for all attendees. I arrived at the last minute, so I landed up standing next to a table along one wall. The two women standing in front of me obviously had little interest in the session topic, as they continued chatting throughout. One of the women managed to knock over her coffee and seemed oblivious to the spilling beverage, so I reached over and righted it for her. Within minutes, she’d knocked it over again and this time I over-reached a bit to make it a little more obvious I was picking up after her. She seemed to get the not-so-subtle clue, and moved it a bit further from the edge of the table… and then turned and knocked it over again.
The next session I attended was on stochastic modeling. Who WOULDN’T sign up for that? Unfortunately, it was so crowded and the chairs packed so tightly together I was practically sitting in the lap of the guy next to me.
I skipped the lunch, I confess, in favor of some shopping. Got a few deals on some clearance racks at the nearby mall! The afternoon session was VERY warm and with everyone full from lunch all except the speakers were nodding off.
We had another “Hospitality Suite” Monday evening, this time with cocktails and ice cream. I made the mistake of lingering too close to the beverages, and a few attendees expected me to serve them. I’m not a master of etiquette. One gentleman asked for a glass of wine, and not only did I initially start to pour from the wrong bottle, but then I served it in the wrong kind of glass. Really, does it taste any different in the other type of glass? Another gentleman wanted a beer and when I handed him the bottle asked whether I was going to give him a glass at all. Beer comes in a glass – a glass bottle, that is – I really don’t see the need for a glass… but I gave him one. I decided he could pour it himself, and that I needed to stand further away from the beverages.
Tuesday and Wednesday were more of the same. Again, it wasn’t my idea of a great way to spend my time – but I should be done with work travel for the year!
<em>Submitted for publication in <a href=”http://www.greeleycitizen.com/” target=”_blank”>The Greeley Citizen</a>.</em>
Life of the Lintee Bean 