5 states. 4 days. 3 hotels. 2 red-eyes. 1 very exhausted me. I hit the East Coast for a business trip last week. What a ride. Hello city!
I took the red-eye flight out of San Jose into Boston. It turned out to be a pretty uneventful flight. When I stumbled into Hotel #1 at 6 a.m., the employees were altogether far too chipper for me. “Can we get you some coffee, a paper? Perhaps some water?” I think I smiled. I don’t really remember. I just wanted the key to my room.
My first meeting was at 9. I was out cold by 6:07.
Three hours later I was on a mission for coffee. Once caffeinated, the whirlwind began. Our first meeting was at the hotel – two hours later three of us climbed into the rental car and were lost out on the town. Boston was gorgeous – with it’s aged brick buildings, rivers and toll ways.
Dan and Pej (my colleagues) were driving and riding shotgun respectively. I was merely along for the ride in the backseat. The two in front bickered constantly – embracing Top Gun personas – arguing back and forth about Goose vs. Maverick responsibilities and which way we were going. Mostly bemused, I was slightly concerned that I’d get the proper ejection seat. And also, did this make me Ice Man?
At one point we became a geographically challenged AT&T commercial. Pej was on the phone. Dan was trying to decide whether to go right or left. “I’m on Verizon! I can’t look at the map and talk on the phone at the same time! Tricia – which way is west?”
They were asking me directions? Yup. We’re doomed.
I occupied my time frantically checking into Foursquare as we circled MIT (so the one and only time they’ll let me onto that campus) and then crossed through Harvard. “Let’s go up ta Hahvad and fuckup some smaht kids…” kept cycling through my mind. (I love that movie.)
And then I looked out the left-side mirror. Walking down the street against a backdrop of brick and ivy was a guy wearing pleated pressed navy slacks, brown penny loafers with no socks, a blue blazer with gold buttons and a red skinny tie. Hello, I am a Harvard stereotype.
Being the party girl that I am, I was in my jammies in Hotel #2 by 3 p.m. When I walked into the room, I was greeted with a treadmill. In. The. Room. What kind of messed up signal was the universe trying to send me.
More meetings followed on Thrusday. As we drove to our final presentation of the day, Pej (who had since taken over the driving responsibilities) slowed the car. “Hey Tricia, Fenway.” The iconic ballpark rose up over the tollway. Rain poured down over us. A city literally crying over the epic collapse of the Red Sox playoff dreams. It was a very cool, calming moment as I looked up, watching raindrops pound the Green Monster in fury.
But by 4:45 p.m., peace was gone as Pej and I were RUNNING to catch the Amtrack Acela out of Boston’s South Station. Piece of unsolicited advice: pencil skirt, blouse, 4-inch heels – not the greatest running attire. But I guess I did get that run in after all.
Rhode Island and Connecticut followed. And that evening, we were in New York.
(To be continued.)