I think I mentioned that our flight was delayed by about 40 minutes, and that I was in boarding Zone 1. I had the window seat on the starboard side of the plane. The man in the aisle seat switched with the man behind him so that he could sit with his wife, so I ended up talking to Craig, a guy in his 50s who was headed to Atlanta for a conference as well; he owns several Exxon Mobil stations near where I live and started right in with asking me where I get my gas. I told him (it wasn't Exxon) and he made a face and said, "Well, I shouldn't speak ill of my competition, but...." And he told me why the gas station nearby had changed hands recently, and said I should get gas at Exxon, of course, and told me about a special they will be running with the Speedpass in the next few weeks (save 25c/gallon!). I was sorry to tell him that my husband's Prius gets about 55 mpg, and that my Vibe even gets between 30 and 35. He was unfazed, but let that part of the conversation drop. I noticed that pattern throughout our subsequent conversation, though - "Not to talk politics, but [insert political statement here]." "Not to seem rude, but [insert rude-seeming statement here]." It was rather comical.
The man who filled the middle seat between us was Scott, who was also headed for a business meeting in Atlanta. He sells the Da Vinci robotic surgery device. I had heard of it, but it came out after I got out of the OR as a resident, so I have never seen one used, and don't even know what it looks like. It was easy to "prime the pump" of conversation with these two gentlemen, who both essentially were in sales. I got to experience the joy of ambiversion, because in the morning Wednesday I had had breakfast with two rather introverted friends, and spent much of the time talking, whereas on this 2-hour flight, when faced with two clear extroverts, I mostly listened. Reflecting on it, I think I do have the best of both worlds. :)
Anyway, between Craig and Scott, we had another wide-raging conversation about education, backgrounds, kids applying to colleges, sports, concussions, and of course their businesses. The discussions lasted for more than an hour, although I admit I tuned out when they started talking football and basketball and Izzo. Upon takeoff there was the most gorgeous sunset, and when we landed it was full night. I love flying at night, especially over more densely populated areas.
Our flight got in about 8:20, and I grabbed my carryons and started toward the signs that said, "Ground Transportation." Since I had done a lot of sitting, I intended to walk rather than take the train. There was an exhibit all the way down those hallways (in the depths of the building) from Zimbabwe. It was interesting, because I noticed the photographs and thought, "That looks a lot like Zambia - I wonder where those were taken?" I was pretty close. I enjoyed the exhibit peripherally, but I didn't linger because I wanted to get to the shuttle and I wanted to call my family before my girls went to bed. I did manage to get to the shuttle, though beyond a certain point they stopped all pedestrians and made us take the train a single stop. Odd, but oh well.
When I walked out into the 60-degree weather, I stopped an airport employee and asked where to get the shuttle. He stopped what he was doing and both explained and pointed clearly, in addition to calling me "Ma'am" and being extremely polite. That was unexpected - not that I expected rudeness, but it seemed as if he was bending over backwards for me. I have experienced a lot of that here, particularly among the hotel employees, who must have it deeply ingrained in them. I haven't heard a single word of complaint, or seen anything but a smile; every one that is within speaking distance gives an unfailingly polite greeting. The man at breakfast today asked how I was. When I said, "I'm well, thank you," he said, "No, thank YOU - you're the reason I have a job." I suppose customer service is all very well, but sometimes it makes me a bit uncomfortable, as if these people have no person left; they only live to serve. But perhaps once the get home and take off the name tags, they can be themselves.
Anyway, I took a 15-minute shuttle ride to the hotel, checked in with an unfailingly polite and smiling clerk named Lisa, who, when I asked (out of curiosity) what would happen to the electronic locks on the doors if the power went out, she said, "That's a very good question" and said something about contacting security to find out what the backup plan is. Don't ask a question you don't want someone to hurt themselves finding an answer for, I guess.
My room is on the 10th floor, directly above the bar (on the first floor). The whole hotel is a giant hollow square tube, with the rooms all on the outside, and a big square lobby in the middle. There is an elevator tower on one side of the square, with 5 glass elevators running up the outside. The elevators look like old radio tubes decorated with vertical strings of white Christmas lights. Every time I have gotten in to an elevator that was already occupied, every person in there was facing the door. That makes no sense to me, to turn one's back to the glass, when the show is outside, people. My kids would love going up and down in the glass elevator. I'll have to take them somewhere where there is one sometime.
With one thing and another, I called my family to say good night, then went exploring. They do have a pool, but it's outside, and was closed for the season. Sigh. I explored around the rest of the hotel, finding the store, restaurant, "market," fitness room (where I picked up a rather insipid-tasting apple) conference rooms/registration (for the next day) and concierge. One of the men behind the concierge desk traced out a route for me to run when I asked; another told me there is a 24-hour CVS down the block. The second man had a delicious accent, and told me he was from Gambia. I told him I have been to Zambia, and he told me that now Gambia is referred to as "The Gambia" (like "The Congo"). I actually knew that, and was surprised initially when I told me he was from "Gambia" without the "the." I love the diversity here, even just looking around. Not a lot of that in my hometown, unfortunately.
When I finally returned to my room, I worked on my bog for a bit. I didn't have access in the room - I typed it up in a word-processing and pasted it tonight. I was mad that they wanted $10/day for internet access in the room, though lobby access is free. I think that's unbelievably greedy for a swanky hotel to charge an exorbitant fee for the room (although conference participants got a price break) and then add WiFi fees on top of that. You get free WiFi at Days Inn, for pete's sake. But tonight I ponied up for the fee because I just wanted to sit in my pajamas and didn't want to be bothered to go to the lobby to publish the blog.
Unfortunately the acoustics in this hotel leave a lot to be desired. A big empty echoing cube with a bar on the ground floor left the noise filtering up and through the cracks around my door. The arrangement of the furniture has the head of the bed at the same end of the room as the door, so there is nothing to block the noise. And there was a REALLy noisy group there last night. I called security twice - at 11, and again at 12:30 - and nothing really happened except I put on a white-noise program on my iPod, and the bar eventually closed. I asked this morning if they could find me a room in a different place, and my name is on a list, but so far no dice. Even if they had a big curtain across the doorway, that would help dampen it some.
So, after about 6 hours of sleep, I got up this morning, registered, ate a nice breakfast (provided for us) and brought my entourage downstairs - jacket, active sitting cushion, bags of rings, pliers, and oh, yeah, my course syllabus. At breakfast I "happened" to sit next to a woman from Grand Rapids who works in Kentwood (not far from our office), a man who works at McLaren in Flint (near where I did my residency) and a man from New Hampshire, not far from where I grew up. Small world.
I sat in the fourth row or so - I heard once that the amount one learns is inversely proportional to the distance one sits from the professor (that is, small distance, learn more, large distance, learn less) so I always sit near the front. It also helps diminish my tendency to
SQUIRREL!
...be distracted. I took my Adderall but it really was the ringweaving that got me all the way through the day. Lectures from 8 - 5:30 with an hour for lunch and a couple of short breaks. Whew. I generated some interest from the people around me in what I was doing - two men stopped to admire my work, and two ladies commented on it. The lady next to me kept looking my way. We talked in between lectures, and she said she's so distractible, and she wondered that I could concentrate while I'm working with the pliers and rings. I said it's the main thing that helps keep me listening. Who knows? Maybe she'll take up crocheting or something.
I had a nice dinner at a restaurant about a block away. They are known for their house-brewed beer, apparently. I had a house-brewed root beer. It was pretty good. Then I called my family again, and took a hot bath (since they don't have a hot tub - ahhhhhhh) and am winding down.
Uh-oh... sounds as if I might need to put on my white noise program again. I'm tired and it's only 10 PM. There's a note in the hotel information that says "9 PM to 9 AM is quiet time; please be considerate of others." Guess most people can't read, more's the pity. (I must live a very sheltered life, not to want to party at the swanky hotel with all my new friends.) It was quieter during the rioting in Kenmore Square the night the Red Sox won the pennant in 1987 (my dorm was right under the CITGO sign). Although I think the group from yesterday may be gone, I saw a lot of sparkly-dressed women walking around - apparently there's a meeting for Silpada. Sigh. Maybe I'll be lucky and there will be a sci-fi con tomorrow. That at least I can relate to.
Thanks for listening, and good night.
peace
wb
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