Ode to the Commuter

With bloodshot red eyes fresh from the skies,where the only relief from the mundane drone of the jet engine is the turbulent winds that tease you with the welcome prospect of untimely death, you have arrived. But yet you have not. For between arrival and bed is an incompetent yet stingingly chipper automated fembot voice that informs you that your luggage has been conveniently shipped to yet another carousel...on the other side of the airport. This is done apparently automagically to make it so you can be closer to the rental car shuttle and so it is always a surprise as to where to find your luggage. You summon the courage to brave the monorail that ships you to the mistakened carousel only to find that the automated voice was secretly plotting to lead you astray. When at last you spot your baggage at the lost baggage booth it looks as though it has aged. The colour* has faded just a little, the wheel scoffed a little more, the fabric torn in more places and if it were human it would look at you with pathetic weary eyes to say "Worn out?! Speak for yourself!" But even with your baggage in hand you have still not arrived. For another unbearably chipper incompetent shuttle bus driver awaits to lead you to your vehicle. Unbenounced to you - your vehicle has been chosen as the most fugly behemoth ever made, the Chevy HHR. Legendary crappiness topped off with the fact that for some sadistic reason the window controls are not by the window but instead tucked away under the radio for you frantic searching pleasure. When confronted, the tauntingly chipper Avis attendant is surprised that you are not thrilled by your free upgrade from compact to luxury. After luxuriously manoeuvring your HHR through perpetual 12am rush hour traffic - you finally arrive at your hotel. But you have still not yet arrived. A tree-hugging hotel architect has decided that all of the parking spots in the garage are for compact cars. Clearly your luxury HHR is too good for the garage and thus you must somehow parallel park it on the nearby street. After 25 attempts and a few dinged bumpers you have managed to wedge a parking spot. You arrive at the hotel lobby. But oh no - you have not arrived. The hideously chipper concierge oh so graciously informs you that the Hampton Inn on Walnut Hill is not the hotel you are currently at. Apparently there are two adjacent suburbs of the city, both with Walnut Hill Ave and both with Hampton Inns on Walnut Hills. After accepting your horrendous mistake you make 25 more attempts to escape the parking spot and finally arrive at the correct Hampton Inn. Too weak to fight or care you park the luxurious HHR in the most obnoxiously illegal spot you can find. The obscenely chipper concierge checks you in and congratulates you on your safe arrival. Oh but you have not arrived. For she MUST regurgitate to you the written hospitality script that has to be read when a customer becomes a silver member. Of course whilst being agonizingly chipper. When finally she loosens her grip on your waning sleep time, you finally have arrived at your hotel room. To tired to eat, to hungry to sleep, too jaded to sigh... you realize that tomorrow morning you need to be at the customer meeting...with a chipper attitude. Perhaps you should have taken notes along the way.
Here's to you, the commuter, as the ancient Chinese curse goes - may you live in interesting times.

*Still spelt the Canadian way to reiterate my loyalties.

Grr of the Day...

Today's destination was Philly, the city of brotherly love. With the ridiculous rainstorm hitting hard, many of the roads along the way were closed. I finally inched my way to Camden, NJ. Where I could see Philadelphia beyond the Delaware river. Overjoyed with premature relief, I didn't realize that the on-ramp to the Benjamin Franklin Bridge was closed due to flooding. The easy marked detour signs lead through a labyrinth of roads that lead to another on-ramp...also closed due to flooding. However in the meantime the original on-ramp had been opened. Unfortunately, by this time, the off-ramp to my current road was closed due to flooding. After being trapped on the interstate in a vicious cycle of detours - I finally found myself at the Benjamin Franklin bridge...only a small road was left. That road unfortunately led to under the bridge and then openly to the raging river. Ironically, this road was NOT closed due to flooding. After debating floating across the river, I decided again to loop around and finally make it on the Benjamin Franklin bridge (a few pylons were sacrificed in the process).