curly does d.c.
I had to go on business trip yesterday 'cause I'm important and crap. Thankfully it was just a one-day thing and I wasn't forced to sleep on scratchy Embassy Suite sheets or use a shot-sized bottle of shampoo that does absolutely nothing for my hair. Nope, yesterday's jaunt was a quickie to Washington, D.C. and back again. I heart the Delta Shuttle -- we took off and landed again within 45 minutes. Furthermore, the shuttle has its own terminal at La Guardia that dispenses free coffee and an array of newspapers and magazines. Rock on.
I spent the days leading up to the trip working on a presentation that I had to deliver in tandem with my manager. I was surprisingly composed in front of a room full of people considering I hate public speaking. However, I was explaining a process that I invented so I felt close enough to the topic to speak comfortably. Otherwise, I'm a splotchy, jittery-sounding, dry-mouthed wreck when thrust into the spotlight.
For some, picturing the audience in only their underwear helps soothe frayed nerves. For me, knowing that I was wearing Hello Kitty underwear under my pin-striped power suit gave me an edge. Snowboarding Hello Kitty underwear to be precise. Even though I now have to attend important pow-wows, it's helpful for me to secretly inject a ridiculous undercurrent to the proceedings. Or in this case, a ridiculous undergarment.
I had a couple of interesting cab rides yesterday. There was nary a peep out of the driver from Reagan National to the meeting location. Cool. The driver from the office to the airport, on the other hand, was a regular Chatty Cathy. A flirtatious one at that. He loved the fact that four young women from NYC were in his cab. He offered to drive us all the way to New York but we politely declined. Our refusal mostly stemmed from the noxious cologne fumes he emitted. P.U. I was so relieved when my coworkers all discreetly cracked their windows.
So he proceeded to chat us up until his cell phone rang. He then conferenced in at least two other drivers and had a very loud discussion in Hindi. Apparently there is no Hindi expression for "piece of junk" because that bit of English was sandwiched in between a bunch of other stuff I didn't understand. And there aren't many cell towers on the road from Dulles to Reagan National because every five minutes his called was dropped. It went a little something like this:
I'm back in my office today basking in the glow of a good meeting and fielding the follow-up questions and tackling the new tasks it spawned. I'm now officially on the radar of some higher-ups. Good thing I wore my Mickey Mouse underwear.
I spent the days leading up to the trip working on a presentation that I had to deliver in tandem with my manager. I was surprisingly composed in front of a room full of people considering I hate public speaking. However, I was explaining a process that I invented so I felt close enough to the topic to speak comfortably. Otherwise, I'm a splotchy, jittery-sounding, dry-mouthed wreck when thrust into the spotlight.
For some, picturing the audience in only their underwear helps soothe frayed nerves. For me, knowing that I was wearing Hello Kitty underwear under my pin-striped power suit gave me an edge. Snowboarding Hello Kitty underwear to be precise. Even though I now have to attend important pow-wows, it's helpful for me to secretly inject a ridiculous undercurrent to the proceedings. Or in this case, a ridiculous undergarment.
I had a couple of interesting cab rides yesterday. There was nary a peep out of the driver from Reagan National to the meeting location. Cool. The driver from the office to the airport, on the other hand, was a regular Chatty Cathy. A flirtatious one at that. He loved the fact that four young women from NYC were in his cab. He offered to drive us all the way to New York but we politely declined. Our refusal mostly stemmed from the noxious cologne fumes he emitted. P.U. I was so relieved when my coworkers all discreetly cracked their windows.
So he proceeded to chat us up until his cell phone rang. He then conferenced in at least two other drivers and had a very loud discussion in Hindi. Apparently there is no Hindi expression for "piece of junk" because that bit of English was sandwiched in between a bunch of other stuff I didn't understand. And there aren't many cell towers on the road from Dulles to Reagan National because every five minutes his called was dropped. It went a little something like this:
"Hindi Hindi Hindi piece of junk Hindi Hindi Hindi. Hellooooo?!?! Hindi HindiThe cab driver from La Guardia had a gray, curly mullet and the thickest Brooklyn accent I've heard in a long time. I just wanted to zone out and sleep through the traffic snarl on the BQE but he insisted on bringing me up to speed on his life. In case you're interested, he now lives in Port Jervis with his wife, two kids and a Rottweiler that will chew your face off if you look at him funny. The scary dog needs to get a rabies shot today so the driver was on his cell phone shoring up support because the 150-pound beast needs to be muzzled and held down at the vet's office. Charming.
Hindi 4-wheel drive Hindi Hindi Hindi. Helloooo??!? Hindi Hindi Hindi.
Helloooooooo?!?!"
I'm back in my office today basking in the glow of a good meeting and fielding the follow-up questions and tackling the new tasks it spawned. I'm now officially on the radar of some higher-ups. Good thing I wore my Mickey Mouse underwear.
Labels: underpants
posted by curly mcdimple @ 11:12 AM :: permalink :: ::
