Do I Look Like a People Person?

While I’m in the midst of a whole plethora of posts about travel and travel cock-ups, I should point out a little something that happened this very day, in the midst of a busy work schedule that made me contemplate just super-gluing the phone receiver to my ear to save time.

There’s this crazy little chick who, while not part of one of my client teams, does work with this team on various projects, albeit in a different capacity. This little chick occasionally pops up to visit our neck of the woods to meet with our team, full of perky, loud opinions and a deafening chatter that sounds sort of like a million birds on amphetamines, magnified through a guitar pedal.

Today this same little chick calls me, on her cell phone, from San Diego, where she is on client business. The fact is, I have spoken to her maybe once ever, so why she is calling me is a mystery. Although, apparently it’s not going to be a mystery for long.

It seems that this Crazy Little Chick was about as confused as Anne Heche at a sexuality conference, because when she called she said, “I’m in San Diego airport but I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know where the meeting is!”

Hmmm. Now it’s possible I’m being unfairly presumptuous here Little Chick, but, when partaking on a business trip, be it close to home or 3,000 miles away, one would assume that maybe taking vital information with you like, for example, where you are going once leaving the airport, might be a pretty useful idea.

As it happened I didn’t have that information either, since none of my team are involved in said trip. She was a touch annoyed at this, which bothered me about oh…not at all. She was going to go make some calls to get the information elsewhere.

Fast forward ten minutes. Phone rings and I see her cell number on my caller ID. I pick up with my utmost, polished professional corporate greeting of, “Yeeeeeeeesssssssssssss?”

“I got to the hotel!” Little Chick says, sounding a touch frantic. “But they won’t let me go to my room.”

“Are you wearing a jacket strapped with explosives?” I didn’t ask, although I wanted to.

“My reservation is there.” she said. “But apparently I need to pay for it in advance, with a credit card.”

“Yeeeeeessssssssss…” I said again, not quite sure what her point was. “They generally insist that you to pay for your stay.”

“And…I don’t have a credit card!” she said. “So they won’t let me in.”

“You don’t have a credit card.” I said flatly. “You don’t have a single credit card?”

“Well yes, I have a credit card.” She said, “But it’s in NY. I didn’t bring it with me. I didn’t think I’d need it.”

Who the hell travels anywhere without taking a credit card and stays in hotels without a means to pay for them? I mean we can book the rooms but someone still has to pay for the damn thing. Tinkerbell doesn't just fly in on the breeze and sprinkle her magic invisibility sparkles on the bill.

“Maybe you could do some sexual favors for the Concierge?” I also didn't suggest although again, I wanted to.

Little Chick wants to know if my boss will let her use his credit card, however, he is not only currently in another state but hello… the card is with him. Unless you have one of those little devices that Captain Kirk used to beam stuff all over the place, I fail to see how this plan could ever succeed.

“What you need…” I started to explain helpfully, “Is an ATM. Because all hotels take cash.”

She liked that suggestion even less than she liked anything else I’d said all day.

“But, I don’t have much in my account.” She said. “I can’t afford to pay for a $200 room in cash.”

“Hence why one requires a credit card!” I said. “Seeing any light bulbs go on yet?”

OK I didn’t say that. But you know I was thinking it.

The whole time this was going on I was thinking, “Why the hell is she calling me? She doesn’t even know me. I don’t work for or with her. She has a fucking assistant she can talk to!”

Finally, another company member attending the same conference paid for her room on his credit card. Meanwhile, I spent an hour of my life I’m never getting back, running around trying to figure out her problems. Joy.