Here it is boys and girls, my last work trip to St. Louis. Actually, I can say my last trip to Missouri ever because, having seen there multiple times, there's no way I would ever voluntarily go back and visit. I would charitably describe the state as an armpit. But what does St. Louis have to do with Torcher the lion dog? I have no idea. But he looks as bewildered as I will look happy when I get on the return flight to California on Tuesday. Fifteen days to resignation day.
Yesterday was Saturday. And Saturday is a rugby day. And with rugby days, bring injuries. The injury d'jour is my eye, which I managed to smash onto some guy's knee while I was kneeling on the ground. Silly me. The eye is swollen but the double vision has subsided. Still, I imagine that my eye is in way better shape than his knee. Should be fun times when the cabin pressure makes my eye swell up like a balloon. Can't wait.
Stop me if you heard this intro before, but I’m headed back to Missouri once again. On an airplane. For work. Which means, of course, more amusing stories for you the faithful reader.
Let’s see, how long has it been since my last trip to my favorite Red State? Oh wait, it’s only been 15 days. Awesome. Last time it was 2 non-stop days of corporate blather about “strategic direction,” “company execution” and “leadership commitment.” And yes, it was as bad as it sounds.
With that as a recent comparison point, I am dead serious when I say that I would *far prefer* to attend those meetings that my department’s team-building retreat. With my insane boss. I have been dreading these next couple of days for the last few months. I kept praying to the 8 lb. 6 oz., golden swaddling baby Jesus that this trip would be cancelled, but to no avail.
Honestly, I would rather perform my own colonoscopy with a rusty garden hose than attend this retreat. We’re basically going to “retreat” (i.e., work) for a little over 24 hours, which is fucking retarded. Monday will be a 14 hour day, were we get on a bus which will carry us 3 hours to the Ozark’s, which is basically in the middle of nowhere (think “Deliverance,” minus a pre-toupee Burt Reynolds).
Once we arrive, we move right into a series of non-stop presentations and working meals, culminating in some sort of “team building” exercise from 8:00-9:30 p.m. That should be a treat. Nothing’s more fun than having “trust falls” and playing “corporate madlib” games at 9:00 at night. Oh wait, I forgot that we are entitled to a 30 minute happy hour from 6:30-7:00. Although that technically makes it “Happy Half Hour.” I wonder how many drinks I can gulp down in 30 minutes. I’m putting the over/under at 5. Oh well, it should make the team building exercise far more palatable.
So I just found out that my department will be having a mandatory retreat in the Ozarks in early November. Yes, David James is headed back to Missouri, kiddos. Hello freezing weather and awkward three hour bus ride with the Bipolar Bear. God, I am not looking forward to this trip and am positively frightened about spending 48 hours in what I can only imagine is a scene out of Deliverance. God help us all.
I am not what you would call a huge fan of the state of Missouri for a number of reasons, many of which are work related and well documented in this blog (Editor’s note: I’ve deleted substantially all of my work-related rants for fear that my employer would discover them. Yes, my new boss makes me paranoid.)
But then I read a fun story like this and I realize "you know, there’s plenty to dislike about the state and its residents without having to rely upon my employer."
Timothy Pentaleri, of Belleville, Missouri, was charged with attempted kidnapping and two counts of attempted harassment/stalking, according to court documents. He allegedly laid out his plan to kidnap a former girlfriend in Minneapolis in a notebook, which included a flow chart, outlining his goal to stun, Mace and "club her hard," according to court documents.
Pentaleri -- an Army officer and, apparently, a total psycho -- showed up at the airport wearing a long-haired wig, a fake mustache and beard when he was stopped and questioned near an airport carousel, according to police. Authorities said he was found carrying a stun gun, three chemical aerosol Mace cans, a folding pocket knife, a set of SUV keys and an expandable baton. Was he arrested? Nope, he was simply issued a trespass notice and dropped off at an area hotel.
Now in most areas, this would be cause for arrest. Jesus, I get strip-searched at the goddamned airport if I carry on more than 3 ounces of liquids. But somehow this nutbag brings a stun gun, mace, pocket knife, and expandable baton to an aiport and gets off with a simple warning. What the fuck? But I have to keep reminding myself that this is Missouri and apparently this kind of thing is commonplace.
The story doesn't stop there though.
Police then reviewed footage from the camera monitoring system in the airport parking ramps and saw Pentaleri walking from the short-term ramp. They located his red GMC SUV parked there. Through the vehicle's window, police could see a duffel bag, a roll of duct tape, a shovel, rope and flex cuffs.
Pretty ordinary fare if you ask me. Honestly, who doesn't have flex cuffs and a shovel in their SUV?
Realizing that this guy might not be your typical Missouri gun nut, police then obtained a warrant to search the inside of the dude's SUV parked at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport and found a notebook with a checklist of items inside the vehicle.
Do you think it ever occurred to them that they might have made a mistake in letting him go? Probably not. But wait, the story gets *even* better.
For some reason, the dumbass returned to his vehicle at which point the police stopped him. The searched his duffel bag to find the following items (and I quote "six condoms, a pillow case cut into strips, a camera, a turkey baster, KY oil, a bag of plastic gloves, two bags of zip ties, a package of Bic lighters, two-sided tape, shoe polish, a pair of nylon socks and Clorox disinfectant wipes."
I swear to god, I am not making this shit up. I honestly could not have made up a funnier list of items if I had tried. Two-sided tape and disinfectant wipes? Brilliant. On some level, you really have to admire this guy, either for his attention to detail ("Let's see here .... pillow case pre-cut into strips? Check...") and unbridled optimism (six condoms!). Does this dude know how to party or what? Seriously, this guy is some sort of cross between MacGyver and the A-Team. He doesn't need incarceration -- he needs his own TV show. This guy would blow "Dog The Bounty Hunter" (oh don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about) out of the water. All he has to do is grow out his mullet and I swear I'm ordering the pay-per-view package right now.
Boys and girls … David James is exhausted right now. I am flying back from Shit Louis, Missouri as I write this and I can barely keep my eyes open. One day after returning from Maggotfest, I had to head to the Loo’ for an all-day, technology implementation strategy session (kill me please).
The technology meeting was an utter waste of time. I totally could have dialed in to that cluster fuck call. I pretty much laid it out for them that I was not going to be traveling to St. Louis every other week like I did for a short while in 2006 (ZES got the worst of that project, though -- my apologies my man).
In order to get through Wednesday’s meetings, I had to ingest an inordinate amount of caffeine. And by inordinate, I mean “shitload.” At last count, I was up to 5 cups of coffee and 6 diet Cokes. And still, I’m nodding off in the afternoon. I wonder if it had anything to do with the subject matter -- implementation of some new “turnkey” “back office solution.” Look folks, I’m not making up these terms and I don’t personally use them, I’m just parroting them back because they were permanently etched into my memory. In fact, I kept track of the number of times “solution” and “customization” were used -- 141 times. Conversely, the term “Scarlett Johansson” wasn’t uttered a single time.
After looking at slides containing terms such as “Strategies Align with Corporate Vision,” “Business Blueprint,” and “Go Live and Support,” I was subjected to a stilted dinner with my boss and some other suffering colleagues. It mercifully ended around 8:30, after which point I was able to retire to the hotel bar to drink more with the aforementioned tortured co-workers.
Thursday included yet another 3+ hour meeting with my boss. Fuck me, why couldn’t I have drown on that whitewater rafting trip? I am pretty confident that I tortured animals in a past lifetime to deserve my current work karma.
But then, it was over. It was 3:00 and time to head to Lambert Airport. Not surprisingly, I was excited to leave Thursday but of course I had to endure the inevitable flying annoyances before I could make it home:
* I am sitting next to some over-tanned, wrinkle-saurus who keeps borrowing my magazines to read. Evidently she didn’t realize that she would be stuck on an airplane for 4+ hours with nothing to do. Fuck, what’s wrong with “Sky Mall” magazine?
* I made the mistake of using the bathroom after a guy in red shorts who ~ destroyed ~ the lavatory. Given all the chemicals and masking agents, it’s pretty fucking hard to further raise the disgusting meter. But evidently the “Little Red Crapper That Could” found a way. I’m blaming it on the pre-flight beef tacos and coffee. Well done, my man.
* I’ve experienced on-and-off turbulence for twenty minutes. I know I've mentioned this before, but there must be some travel route that doesn’t fly through the eye of whatever tornado which perches itself over the Colorado mountain range.
* Some old-ish dude just walking down the aisle just grinded my arm and shoulder with his crotch. I’m not talking about the “accidental-glance-of-my-ass-or-thigh-against-your-shoulder.” I’m talking full on “hey-birthday-boy-you-get-to-judge-the-lapdance-contest-at-Lucky-Cheng’s-restaurant-full-on-grind.” The guy just left me simpering here in my seat like Jodie Foster in "The Accused." God, I feel so dirty.
And so it went. I’m headed home to sleep … and then sleep some more. Oh, and I just signed up to play another rugby game this Saturday against a team of experienced “old boys” (i.e., 35 and older), who are usually out of shape (hooray), but dirty as shit. Oh well, should be fun. Have a great weekend kiddos and I’ll work on posting some photos/more content.
To the left is a photo of deep fryer. And below is Monday's cafeteria menu for my company, which is headquartered in Shit Louis, MO. Please note the heavy emphasis on foods utilizing the pictured deep fryer:
"February 12th-16th, 2006
GUEST CHEF MONDAY-DONNA’S DEEP FRYER
Country Fried Hamburgers Country Fried Banana and P-Nut Butter Sandwiches Deep Fried Catfish (Farm Raised) Fried Veggie Wraps French Fries Fried Okra Fried Mushrooms Fried Pickles
ALSO!!! Fried Cookies and Twinkies!!!"
Uhhh, is anyone else noticing a trend here? Yes people, every goddamned food item is deep fried. What the fuck?! I thought that the restaurant I frequented once in STL that sold deep fried cheescake was the exception, not the grotesquely unhealthy norm. Jesus Christ, would it have killed them to sell the pickles, cookies and Twinkies as is?
As an aside, did these backwoods people ever learn how to spell the word "peanut"? What kind of country-ebonics is the word "P-Nut"? I don't know if it's stupidity or laziness, but it's ridiculous either way.
Ugh, I keep thinking about the menu and I'm beginning to feel seriously queasy. I was beginning to think it was just my sensitive stomach and then I found the below t-shirt and realized that it's not me, it's them.
This video pretty much captures the essence of Missouri. Oh, add in the fact that Shit Louis is the murder and STD capital of the United States and, well, you can pretty much guess why my heart goes pitter patter every time I have the privilege to go there.
Sorry I've been derelict in my posting duties - I should be shot. I pray to god/allah/scarlett johansson that I will have a post about my meeting by tomorrow. Hectic, hectic work days have dragged me down recently.
It’s the unholy hour of 6:15 a.m. on Tuesday morning, and I’m standing in a security line at SFO airport. There’s about 30 people ahead of me in line, so I’m not alone in my enjoyment. As we shuffle through, one of the TSA agents reminds travelers that there liquids permitted on the plane. Evidently, the tourists ahead of me in line didn’t receive a copy of the memo outlining the well known travel restrictions and were forced to throw away 3 bottles of Napa’s finest wine that they had attempted to smuggle on the plane. Ouch.
As I finally make my way through the line, the splint on my arm draws the attention of security and I am whisked away to a special area for closer scrutiny. Evidently there’s something in the Security Level Orange level that requires individuals wearing medical-related devices to submit to extra-special security screening. God knows what happens to travelers in wheelchairs once the security level is cranked up to Red, but I think it involves a full body cavity search.
Unfortunately for my readers, the rest of my travel to St. Louis was pretty non-descript. I had an entire row to myself, passed out about 10 minutes into the flight, and slept pretty much the entire way. No Shrek-like seatmates, no vomiting octogenarians, no flatulent teens.
What can I say about St. Louis itself? I’m basically out in the suburbs, right near the nation’s largest strip mall (congratulations, Missouri) and I can’t get over the combination of Red State, Wal-Mart, and the general level of unhealthiness. People smoke in bars and restaurants, the serving sizes are ridiculous, and everything appears to be deep fried, even when it doesn’t need to be. The best example of this was one of the dessert options at dinner one night -- deep fried cheesecake. Yup, that pretty much sums up St. Louis for me.
Fortunately for my audience, my flight back from St. Louis on Thursday contained its normal level of heightened annoyance. Within 5 minutes of taking off, I notice that the airplane smells vaguely of vomit. And by vaguely, I mean “strongly.” But it’s no big deal. I’m sure that I can hold my breath for 3.2 hours.
It turns out that the source of the smell was the woman in the row directly in front of me, who is eating some fragrant delicacy that I think is some combination of cod, vinegar and sweat socks. God bless her for sparing people in the airport by waiting until the flight had commenced before breaking into her dinner. What a thoughtful lass.
The voice over the intercom just announced that the in flight movie would be “Talladega Nights - The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.” Wow, things are starting to look up. The rest of the flight I alternate between “Ricky Bobby” and Season 2 episodes of “Arrested Development” and was perfectly content. It even helped me to temporarily forget the putrid stench which was the dinner of the woman in seat 14D. Good times.
For some reason still unbeknownst to me, I was named one my company’s 100 key employees (company size is approximately 2,000). The prize? I got to fly to St. Louis as part of an all-day corporate strategy meeting.
Yes, I said meeting, singular. When originally told that I had to attend the meeting, my initial response was “uhhh, is there a dial in conference number?”
But no, my company felt that my presence was imperative, despite the fact that I would say nothing and gulp down caffeine at an alarming rate. Perhaps they wanted to be amused with reading my amusing anecdotes on this blog. Or perhaps they’re retarded. In either case, here it is in a nutshell.
7:30 a.m.: The day begins with breakfast at 7:30 (which is 5:30 a.m., my time) and my ass is dragging, having spent 10 hours traveling on what was supposed to be my day off and having gotten all of 5 1/2 hours sleep the night before. Surprisingly, alcohol did not play into this equation at all. Looking like hell, I join some colleagues of mine who work in D.C. and who have enjoyed the benefit of the time zone change. The exchange went something like this:
Colleague (chipperly): “Good morning! You look tired, what time did you get in last night?” Me (under my breath): “Please die.” Colleague: “Excuse me?” Me: “About midnight. Doing great. Where’s the free coffee?”
And with that, I quickly gulp down a couple of cups of coffee and grab another cup for the meeting. “Operation: Feed Me Caffeine” has begun in earnest.
7:56: I poke my head inside the huge conference room and decide I probably better grab another cup of coffee. Just in case.
8:00: The meeting commences. Fortunately, the caffeine starts to kick which miraculously nudges me from “comatose” status to “barely functioning.”
8:07: The first slide of the presentation reads “Vision --> Mission --> Goals.” God, this is going to be a long day.
9:45: Time for our first break of the morning which is accompanied by a full on sprint towards the coffee machine.
10:23: The CEO urges us to improve our interaction with our customers: “Let’s touch our customers the first time as right as we can.” I start to giggle not-so-quietly as my boss glares at me.
10:45: Tuning out of the meeting (big surprise there, I know), I decide to take a little fashion inventory and assess the damage:
* There are not less than eight full-blown goatees in the crowd. I thought those were outlawed years ago? * Surprisingly, there is not a single mullet in the crowd. For the first time today, I am proud of my company. * Someone has worn a Tommy Bahama-style tropical shirt. I’m sorry, I didn’t get the memo stating that it would be “surf attire” at the meeting. What, no flip flops? Where’s the shark-tooth necklace? * Another person expressed his individuality by wearing faded blue jeans, hiking boots and a huge foot long ponytail. I keep looking over in astonishment, wondering when the Fab 5 are going to bust in and take this guy out for a Queer Eye makeover. * Someone is wearing brown and black topsiders with a black suit and a black striped shirt. And a goatee. Awesome. * I spot what I initially think is someone wearing a black skull cap but upon closer inspection, it turns out to be his hair. He looks exactly like Jim Carrey from “Dumb & Dumber.” I can't post the photo I found on the Internet (yes, I know I need to get a camera phone), but you get the idea.
11:33: Easily the highlight of the meeting is when the CEO started playing the following videoclip:
Based upon the total silence, it’s obvious that few people in the audience even knew who Ali G was. Pathetic. Fuck it, I immediately start cracking up. My boss stares at me in disbelief like my hair is on fire. I don’t even care.
1:30: The second highlight of the day was meeting Yogi Berra who happened to be staying at the same hotel and who was in town for a charity golf tournament. I personally hate the Yankees, but thought it was pretty cool to meet a Hall of Fame baseball player.
2:45: As mentioned, the meeting was comprised of approximately 100 people. When glancing around at the bad clothes and the horrible facial hair, I noticed that the audience is really, really white. I mean, shockingly white. Of the 100 people, approximately 80 are white males. I counted about 15 white females or so, and 6 or 7 Asians (male and female combined). Of that number, it should be noted that 5 or 6 of them flew in from Singapore, leaving one token Asian male who actually works in St. Louis. There’s not one African American in the entire crowd. When responding to an anonymous question about the lack of company diversity, our new head of HR said, in what was surely the understatement of the day, “we could stand do improve in that area.”
My response to our new head of HR comment was “thanks for the statement in the damned obvious, you dumbshit.”
3:00 Good news - the final afternoon break has arrived. Bad news - the freshly brewed pot of coffee has not. Shit. There’s no more coffee, so I’m stuck drinking sugar-free sodas, which is all that’s left.
4:00: I am dying here. I didn’t keep officially tally, but unofficial estimates listed my caffeine intake as follows: 7 cups of coffee, 2 Cokes, and 2 iced teas. And despite all this, by my eyes are heavier than a “Celebrity Fit Club” participant. My brain is so lacking activity, that I half expected Missouri Republicans and outraged Christian groups to intervene before my employers pull the plug on my coma-like existence.
5:20: Mercifully the meeting finally ends. Now it’s off to cocktails, followed by dinner and finally a few hours of sleep before I head back to the airport to fly back to the Bay Area. This has been a colossal waste of time, but at least I got free coffee and frequent flyer miles out of it.
(Tomorrow - “Hey You Dumb Asshole, You Just Ran Over My Luggage!!!”)
Here it is boys and girls, my last work trip to St. Louis. Actually, I can say my last trip to Missouri ever because, having seen there multiple times, there's no way I would ever voluntarily go back and visit. I would charitably describe the state as an armpit. But what does St. Louis have to do with Torcher the lion dog? I have no idea. But he looks as bewildered as I will look happy when I get on the return flight to California on Tuesday. Fifteen days to resignation day.
