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Marriott: Is it a coincidence that your name includes “riot?”

16 Apr

Last week I was on a whirlwind tour of New York and Connecticut, visiting four major clients in three days. I’m not sure what jackass drafted that meeting schedule (oh wait – that would be me!) but I had three 12-hour days without so much as a pee break unscheduled.

Suffice it to say, on Tuesday, following a sleepless night, a long day of work and a rainy commute that doubled my travel time, I was THRILLED to see my hotel.

After checking in, I strapped myself down with bags like a pack mule so I’d only have to take one trip to my room, where I had plans to eat dinner in bed before crashing for the night. Or so I thought.

When I got to my room, however, as soon as I had the door cracked, I was bowled over by a heat wave. Then, as I opened the door, I was greeted by a bag of trash… and two wildly unmade beds. It occurred to me that there might actually be people in this room, so I cautiously backed out and beat a quick path to the front desk.

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In other news: Mom hates museums.

7 Apr

Last week when I posted about our trip to the Library of Congress, I was primarily fixated on the bitchy woman who worked security. I completely didn’t do the rest of the visit justice.

If you like books or architecture, then the LOC should be on your must-see list when you visit DC. It’s free (like almost every other cultural destination in this fine city), and it’s a gem.

I take any willing guest there if faced with a rainy day, but it’s been years since I took the guided tour. The building is loaded with symbolism, and over the years my explanations have gotten a bit thin.

“See that statue there? She represents travel, which is why she’s holding onto a train.”

<A docent sadly shakes his head as he walks by.>

So this time, knowing my dad is history buff, I suggested we all take the guided tour. Much better than me making shit up that he’d be able to call me on.

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I want to keep flying those friendly skies.

6 Apr

I know, I often bitch and moan about the little things on this blog. Not today. I am here to marvel for a moment in the fact that sometimes, people do not suck.

I flew home from Chicago last night and I have to say: from the moment I set foot in O’Hare, I did not encounter one sucky person. In face, everyone was actually pretty awesome.

First: security. It was a breeze. When I went through the “poofer” machine, the TSA person actually complimented me. “That’s the most perfect posture I’ve seen!” she exclaimed. “You could model this machine!” I took a bow upon exiting.

As I put my shoes back on, a young TSA guy approached with my bag. “Is this yours?” he asked. I confirmed and he said he needed to swab it. He opened it up, pulled out my white noise machine and swabbed it.

“Every time I fly they want to see this. Do you know what it is?” I asked him. He didn’t, so I explained it. He was cracking up by the time I was done telling him about the whishing sound of static it creates. Given his laughter, you would think it was a joke machine. I felt a wee bit proud of my device and it’s apparently jovial properties.

Then on to the gate. I was there early enough that I could hop a flight that left 60 minutes earlier – for $50. I chatted with the gate agent. “My opinion?” she looked at me. “Go spend the $50 on a nice dinner and some wine and you won’t care that you’re getting in an hour later.” Nice. I like the way she thought, so I took her advice.

Then when it was time to board my flight, I was surprised by the number of foreign passengers boarding. They all had Air Iberia boarding passes and were speaking rolling Spanish. Despite the fact that they had clearly just gotten off an airplane, they acted as if they weren’t quite sure how the process worked. But instead of being annoying, it was endearing.

Case in point: the guy boarding before me seemed rather superstitious. As we stepped from the bridge into the plane, he paused, rubbed the outside of the plane, knocked it three times, then kissed it. Yes, please! I like flying with people who are that eager to bestow good karma on the plane. (Especially since it was a 737 and I was imagining a huge gaping hole in its roof, a la Southwest’s flight this weekend.)

I think this poor guy had jetlag, so I took his picture, which might mean that I suck:

Once seated, I ended up next to a retired couple from Portland who were traveling to DC for the first time. They were excited and had only a loose agenda for everything they would like to accomplish, so we spent the majority of the flight engaged in a “tourist Q&A” of the city. When we got of the plane I walked them down to baggage claim and made sure they knew where the rental cars were. I’m pretty sure they wanted to hug me.

Finally, my cab driver was an older Muslim man who was very friendly. As we hit the first light in DC (after crossing the 14th street bridge), a homeless man was standing on the median. My driver pulled over, carefully picked through his ashtray and handed him some quarters. I wanted to hug him.

So there. I don’t constantly complain, and people don’t constantly suck. Happy hump day!

When I say “cow vagina” I mean it as a compliment.

28 Mar

My pottery studio has “open studio” time on Sundays when students can come in to make-up a class or put in some extra time on a project. Since I missed my usual class on Saturday, I bounced into the studio yesterday to work.

One person there was part of the work-study program, where you work in the studio in exchange for wheel time and clay. He seemed somewhat new to the arrangement because he wasn’t entirely sure what he should be doing while we were working. So he talked. And talked.

The guy ran his mouth at an unprecedented pace, and everyone started making eye contact that seemed to say, “Who IS this guy?”

Here’s how he warmed up…

Dude: Some people say that form follows function and the shape of your pot is more important than the color of your pot, but the color IS the form, so it’s the most important piece.

Someone Else: I want some of what he’s smoking.

Dude: It sounds like exactly what I said!

Someone Else: Pure bullshit?

And for our glazing edification, he then took the conversation here:

Dude: I never like using the “Red Mamo” glaze. It’s unpredictable.

Someone Else: Really? I’ve had no problems with it.

Dude: Yes. The last time I glazed a piece with it, it came back looking like someone had ejaculated on it.

Stunned silence. I want to ask if he’s ever had a piece some back with a turd in it, because I can totally imagine someone taking a dump in his bowls if he always talks like this. But I refrain.

Dude: Let me tell you, you can’t even GIVE AWAY a bowl that looks like someone has ejaculated on it.

Studio Lead: No bodily fluid talk, please! From here on out, it’s only Animal, Vegetable or Mineral if you need to make a comparison.

And then the kicker, which I am not embellishing even a little bit:

Dude: I’m learning two words in every language.

Someone Else: Wow.

Dude: Yes. In Japanese I know XXX and YYY.

No one says anything because we don’t care.

Dude: The one is “hi” and the other one is “cow’s vagina.”

Everyone is smirking and trying to ignore him.

Dude: Because apparently in Japanese if you want to tell someone they are the bee’s knees, you tell them they’re the “cow’s vagina.”

I’m pretty sure he’s learning his words from Ron Burgundy.

C.H.I.P.S. or just a “chip” on your shoulder?

28 Mar

I think this is called "poor planning."

What is it about law enforcement that attracts power-hungry people? Yesterday, passing through the security at the Library of Congress, we encountered a guard who clearly enjoyed any way she could flex her power. Never did she smile, or accompany her bossy words with anything other than a belittling sneer.

As I prepared to go through the metal detector, she called out, “Put your coat on the conveyor belt.” Guess where I was standing? Next to the conveyor belt with my coat in my hand, ready to place it there without her instruction. At that moment I decided she was the type of person who would say, “Breathe!” just so she could claim your body’s functions were entirely of her doing.

I made it through metal detector just fine, as did my mom. But when we turned back to check on my dad – who generally has not one but four different items (glasses, radio, binoculars and clipboard) hanging around his neck at any given time – it was clear that we might need to sit down.

Alas, that wasn’t an option. “You can’t stand there!” the crabby woman snarled at us. “Keep moving.” (Never mind that there was not a line of people trying to enter the building and the area was in no way congested.)

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