Right. Waking up at 6:30 am and realizing you just royally fucked up an important business meeting with a new client.
Fortunately, my presence at this meeting wasn't of the be-there-or-we-lose-the-business variety. And a lifetime legacy of punctuality and reliability made the fact that I sent my colleagues off without me this morning more amusing than irritating. At least that's what they told me.
And I was able to fly standby at 9:00 (saving the company a whopping $900 in change fees) and get to NYC in time for the post-meeting lunch at the fabulous (and very gay-waitered Abboccato Ristorante (which should be called A Visit From The Carb Fairy)) with the client. And I was all charming and shit, so there was no real harm done. And we all got back to Chicago in one piece. Together.
Which means, of course, that I flew to New York today just to have lunch. Which means that Sondheim is probably going to write a satiric paean to me and my people. And I hope Patti LuPone doesn't sing it because she chews on her vowels.
Unknown benefit to flying standby: Even though I had to sit in a middle seat, I at least got a middle seat in an exit row. Probably because I flirted* with the gay guy behind the ticket counter.
*And by "flirted" I mean "whored myself so I could get on a flight" and not "made sexual advances that I had any actual interest in following through on."**
**Does that make me a bad guy? An evil queen? A dedicated corporate drone? A shameless Dubya-type who will stop at nothing to cover my own culpable and not very shapely ass? Story at eleven.
***HA! I said cooter!