Throwing Poo

Anyone who says they enjoy business travel has never traveled for business.  What these people are doing is confusing the need to travel for business with taking a vacation.

I spend an average of 2-3 days a week on the road.  For me, business travel is an exhausting anxiety that begins the night before and plays out something like this:  

Phase One (deep breath): pack my bag(s); worry about waking up on time; sleep restlessly; wake up tired; rush to the airport; find a parking space; wait in line to check a bag; wait in line to go through security; wait in line to pay $3 for a bottle of water; hope the plane is not delayed; hustle to my gate while weaving in and out of the inconsiderate numbskulls who mill around in the airport aisles (i.e. vacationers); wait in line to get on the plane; hope I get an open seat next to me; try to identify the fat/smelly/obnoxious people in line who I hope don’t sit next to me; wait forever for the old man in front of me to put his coat in the overhead bin and take his damn seat already; hope there is still some overhead space for my carry-on bag and suit jacket; store my gear and take my seat; avoid eye contact so no one will want to sit next to me (even though seats are assigned); try not to get pissed off when some asshole crushes my suit jacket by carelessly stuffing his carry-on bag into MY overhead bin;  let the fat/smelly/obnoxious guy into the seat next to me; quickly put on headphones and pretend to read/sleep so he won’t talk to me;  pray the plane doesn’t get delayed (now that I’m on it next to a fat/smelly/obnoxious guy and there’s no getting off), wait for a lousy cup of coffee and, if I’m lucky, a muffin-ette; wait in line to pee; wait to get off the plane; feel nauseas from breathing a cocktail of airborne germs and stale farts for the past 1-5 hours; wait for my bag; hope my bag didn’t get lost; wait some more for my bag; do a quick mental inventory of my bags contents and realize that I forgot workout clothes/cell phone/important files/etc.; wait for a cab; wonder if the cab driver is going to try to rip me off; teach the cab driver the English pronunciation of my destination; act like I’m familiar with the area so the cab driver won’t try to rip me off; suddenly doubt that I have enough cash to pay for the cab and tear through my bag to check; wonder if my clothes are going to smell like cigarettes and ass after I get out of the cab; arrive for work.

Break here for 8-10 hours of work followed by dinner with someone who I’m expected to entertain despite my growing hatred of them. 

Work and repeat Phase Two for 1-2 more days.  Repeat Phase One.  Arrive back at Cleveland Hopkins Airport and realize I forgot where I parked my car. 

To summarize using a food analogy, vacationing is a filet mignon; business travel is liquid protein pumped in through a feeding tube.  I’m contemplating a hunger strike.