Paul Michael Peters's Blog, page 12

Trifecta Airlines

In recent weeks I’ve been traveling again. Northern Michigan with friends and family, Seattle for work, and the Kennedy Space Center in Florida to tour the Assembly building before they stop the tours, build new rockets, and set course for Mars.

Even a well-traveled person like myself can’t always pick the best seat. Maps on websites can be deceptive, Seat Guru http://www.seatguru.com/ , a site I’ve gone to for years, is not 100% accurate as planes on different carriers have made special modifications for a bathroom or galley on one aircraft.

I found myself in the perfect storm of bad seats going south. I was trapped before any ability to switch or change. Trapped on the window side, in front of me were two seats instead of three off centered, leaving me with no foot room, no tray table, no pocket for stuff. Behind me was the 5 year old kick monster, old enough to know better, physically developed enough to have legs like a mule, he decided at one point to stand backwards and repeated crash his body into the back of my chair for fun. Finally, to my right, was a cushy baby boomer codling her purse sized prize of a dog in his pink bedazzled pet carrier. Once in flight the situation seemed nearly orchestrated as one annoyance stopped, the other would begin. Pounding, bumping rhythms from behind were sometimes stopped by a “Nathan, stop it” from a fatherly voice. Yips and whines from an attention-starved pup started a phase of cooing and snacks from “mommy” filled with baby talk. 

There was no escape. I couldn’t squeeze out and bother the hipster couple who had gotten the two seats in front of me. Mommy had a bladder like an empty septic tank and wasn’t going to leave her little man alone. While I would have fought Nathan to flee, his father was too athletic to allow me to get away with injuring him.  

Air travel is no longer sexy or romantic. Those who believe that to be true have not flown for a while or previously, like the woman waiting to board at the gate with me at SeaTac who could not comprehend why the airlines don’t let the people at the back of the plane board first, “it’s just logical” she told her companion. “Otherwise I have to climb over all these other people to get to my seat.”

Logic has nothing to do with it my dear traveler. It is a Caste System built on frequency and profits. If you travel often, you are a revenue stream the airline needs to target. If you travel with the welcome of each new decade you should learn to enjoy the bumps on the tarmac, catapulting drops in altitude during turbulence, and being served the last crumbs of single serving peanut dust with drops of watered down soda from the bottom of the plastic gutter bag ice conveniently broken on the floor in front of the lavatory. But as you’ve never been at the front of the plane to see how the food cart is prepared, you’ll never know why you get so sick after the flight.

Be good to each other my fellow travelers, you are each other’s only hope for a good experience in transit.

Enter to Win - Free Giveaway on Goodreads

 Between now and February 1 you can enter to win an autographed copy of "Peter in Flight". Find details below.

Goodreads Book Giveaway








Peter in Flight


by Paul Michael Peters

Giveaway ends February 01, 2014.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

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The Divas of Desire

Next stop on the virtual book tour - The Divas of Desire 
Enter for the book giveaway or read the review of "Peter in Flight"

Absence makes the heart grow fungus

Read the guest post on Lynelle Clark's Aspired Writer blog as "Peter in Flight" starts a virtual blog tour. 

Dinner in Abiline

I thought the start of this story might be about frozen rain on the Kansas toll way, a new social group I call, “bubble people”, who only think of themselves and can't disembark from a plane in an orderly fashion; but instead I would like to tell you about the simple pure delight of a wonderful meal.

My vacation has taken me to Abilene Kansas, I have stumbled on a place called the Brookville Hotel. You know in all those war films there is a moment when big mid western solider starts to talk about “the cooking back home”? They usually say something to the effect that, “there is nothing as good Sunday dinner at the” insert local home location name, “and that’s what I’m fighting for.”

Well I found that place. That’s what the Brookville Hotel is. The only serve a chicken dinner, but it is the best chicken dinner I’ve ever had. And believe me, I’ve had a lot of chicken dinners.

They start out with sides like cottage cheese, peaches, pickles, slaw, and some preserves. These are creamy large portions that are perfect  in balance with one another.

This is followed by four good pieces of deep fried chicken, great mashed potatoes, the creamiest of cream corn, thick gravy, and old fashioned buns.

Sara, my waitress, was a delight in her service and answered all my questions.

There are two locations, this one has been around for 13 years, the original longer. If you are every making your way up and down the rolling hills of Kansas, stop in Abilene for Brookville Hotel, sign the registry, and belly up to one of the best meals you may ever have

Daydreamers on Cell Phones - The New Enemy #1

It’s been a busy few weeks between Austin, Boston, Las Vegas and lastly Manhattan. Wednesday, after putting a full day in at the desk I rushed off to the airport for a late arrival into Manhattan. Up early, it was a great 10 block walk to the office where I was slated to speak to customers.

My stupid need to be early, got me there an hour before everyone else. I was squirmy in my seat all morning and we blew through any sense of the schedule and things meandered for hours. Finally, it was my turn up front.

It was a tough room, as one man with a cold and one too many shots of could medication fell asleep, others had many questions, and one co-worker insisted on making certain his thoughts were said at length. Oh, and the lap-top I was presenting from decided to go to sleep, so I gave a quarter of my presentation from memory. 

Please do not mistake this as a list of complaints. I really like this part of my job. I am really good at it.

Here is the funny part of an already long day. After shaking hands and answering questions, I have to go to LGA. When I arrived at the closet where my carry-on luggage was stored, I learned a valuable lesion. Don’t leave your stuff in the coat check. The co-worker who had gotten out the door ahead of me took my bag instead of his. I know this because his bag with his business card that looks nearly identical to mine, with the exception of the big yellow tag that has his name on the handle, was the only thing in the closet.

He picks up his cell when I call, and he is at Penn Station about to board his train to Boston. I had 20 minutes to get from 58th, to get to 33rd and 7th.

I am able to get downstairs and hail a gypsy cab driver, who agrees to get me there in time during the 3:00 in the afternoon start to rush hour for an extra set price. There are things on this cab ride I cannot describe without incrimination. Lets just say that you may have seen some of these stunts several action movies.

He is on the corner where he said he would be, with my carry on. I have to scream his name to get his attention. We make the switch, he is back off to his train, and I am back in the Prius off to LGA. I am not one to get car sick, but I nearly vomit on several occasions from the smells of the city, stop and go pattern of the two footed driver, and the swerving in and out of traffic.

The rush is for nothing. I have time to sit at the bar and talk with a lovely woman whom I later discovered was married for 20 years with an 8 year old a 5 year old triplets. It’s cliché in retrospect, but I literally said, “You don’t look old enough to have been married 20 years and have triplets.” Eventually she goes to Minneapolis, and I go to my gate to discover that the flight has been delayed three hours with mechanical issues.

I’m able to get on an earlier flight with most of those able to switch in time before it’s sold out.

Every year I have to learn again not to travel the week before Thanksgiving. My biggest pet peeve is being late. My time is valuable. I respect others enough to be on time. My second biggest pet peeve is now daydreamers on the phone. They take forever to board and disembark from a plane, feel the need to just stop when walking in front of you for not other reason, or take your luggage, which does not include a large marker clearly identifying the true owner. 

Last Plane Home Tonight

Wednesday I am outside of Boston speaking at a small
conference. The previous presenter has gone long and I am forced to pick up the
pace at the end to make the allotted time so that everyone can enjoy wine and
appetizers. Like often, there are people afterward who have questions, want to
shake my hand, give me a business card. It’s good. Still, I have to make a
flight.

Getting to the rental car much later than planned the checklist
in my head starts to tick off. Enter location of Logan airport into the cell
phone navigation. Must stop to fill up the fuel tank. Find way to airport in
rush hour traffic. Drop off car. Change out of my suit, which suspenders set
off the TSA security, into slacks. Print out boarding pass. Get through TSA.
Get to gate. Get on flight. This is a list I’ve completed many times.

Systems go, on the highway, heading to the airport I see a
gas station sign and take that exit. Unlike many states, this gas station is
not at the bottom of the ramp, but in the next berg. After an added two minutes
of driving I see the actual station. I also witness a traffic accident take
place right in front of me. I drive around them and go to the pump. From the
pump I can see a person get out, call 911, and wait. There are others who are
stopping to assist. When the pump clicks off, I turn back for the freeway and
decide that there are enough people on-site as the police and ambulance pull up
to provide a report.

Thirty minutes later I am approaching the big dig completed
mess of a tunnel. Following each turn by turn instruction, the phone looses signal,
and recovers in time for me to miss my underground exit to the airport by about
six car lengths of safety. I am late. Emerging on the other side of the city
the phone recalculates and takes me right to the heavy traffic of Game 1 of the
World Series. I am very late. Eventually, I find the right exit and the rental
car return.

The young man scans the car, checks the fuel gage and
mumbles something. The printer is broken. My receipt is not printing. By the
third try he mumbles a thank you and I am off.

First men’s room I see, with the speed of Bat Man changing
by sliding down the 60’s Bat Pole, I’m out of the gray suit and into the slacks,
but do not take time to find my belt or repack with any care.

On the shuttle bus from the rental return to the terminal my
heart drops when a man asks, “did we miss our stop?” No. We did not.

At the kiosk I go to print my boarding pass and kick myself
for not having done it earlier. Logan is empty and shops are starting to close
at 6:30. My flight is at 6:47. The kiosk informs me it can’t print my boarding
pass. The gate agents call out my name to come to gate 16 immediately. So I
find the closest pre-screening ticket agent, but she can’t help, she has no keyboard.
Her neighbor is quick on the keyboard and printing out the pass, but would like
to scold me at the same time for not being earlier.

There is no one in line at security, but I still must run
the gauntlet of black fabric retractable maze guides arranged for the busy
times. I am a “three bin” traveler and am pretty fast at this. All the agents
are watching the hilariousness of the moment as my name is called out a second
time over the airport intercom to come immediately to gate 16.

Stepping in to the TSA particle scanner I put my hands up
over my head. In the same moment that my hands go up, and little boy about 2 –
3 years in age shows up from out of nowhere and tries to enter the cylinder
with me drawing the attention of everyone in the area. A slight tug from the
little man on my pants without a belt, provide everyone the image of my pants
now around my ankles and a peak at the tattoo on my leg. Boxers, not briefs.

I pull my pants up with one hand, scoop up the kid with the
other and hand him to his mother. In less than a minutes the three bins are
dumped into my bag and I am off to the gate. Somewhere half way to my gate they
call my name again. No belt on still, my pants slide down a few more times when
attempting to adjust the strap on my bag over my shoulder again.

In eyeshot of the gang hanging out at the gate, my name is
called again, and I raise my hand to wave at them, let them know the name they
are now pronouncing is mine, but that was the hand holding up my pants. They
too know I am a boxer man.

“You just might make it Mr. Peters”, she says handing back
the pass. In a moment so close to the movies, I slide my bag into the closing
door of the jet to keep it from sealing. I have made the last flight home
tonight.

Now I must do a walk of shame as there is only one open bin
for my carry-on, and it is in the back. Out of breath, disheveled, paints being
held up by one hand, I get there and back to the front of the plane where my
seat is.

With the click of my seatbelt, I am wasted, when the captain
clicks on over the PA, “Ah, ladies and gentlemen, I’ve gotten a call from the
tower that vice President Joseph Biden is landing on Air Force Two, so we are
going to wait here for about twenty while the airport is on lock down.”

Fuck. But I did make it.

Short and Spooky

There was a bee in my car on the way to the Detroit Metro
Airport. It was distracting and dangerous, so I pulled over to shoo it out.
When I opened the other doors, another bee came in to join its friend.
Eventually, both left allowing to make my fight.

At the end of a long week of training and classes, I walked
over to my red Chevy Sonic rental, which I had enjoyed driving over the last
few days. It had been basking in the warm Austin parking lot all day. I opened
the front door and noticed something odd. The night steel color plastic
interior door panel seemed to be writhing in movement. I opened the back seat
door and found the same. On closer inspection with my tired eyes I was shocked
to find thousands of tiny black spiders had hatched from a nidi in the back
seat. All doors open, sun basking in, I stood and watched the babies exit the
car in swarms landing on the hot black asphalt.

I’ve learned when you travel its important to build in time
on certain things. Had I been quick to jump on a flight that night, I never
would have made it on time and without dozens or hundreds of bites.

 

Holiday Inn

Since 2009 I have stayed 42 weeks at a Westin in Toronto. I
was really hoping to get a full year there before it was removed from the list
of officially approved hotels.

Your first instinct might be to say, “What the hell do you
do Peters?”. The other may be, “That’s a lot of points.” The truth is, it
doesn’t matter what I do, only that you know I didn’t get any points for
staying there. It was for pure joy.

My motivation was that it was close to the office, and the
people there are really nice, a higher degree than your traditional “Canadian
nice”.  The staff of this location knew
who I was, recognized me, talked to the lonely traveler, didn’t ask what type
of drink I like, just served it…. It was a good place for me to stay.

So my new location is not as nice. Its an older Holiday Inn.
And I am not being a snob here, there are many good and enjoyable Holiday
Inn’s. This one is a bit long in the tooth. The elevators smell like that
strange family vacation mixture of pool chlorine and pee. My 4th
floor window is at the same level as, and looks over, the vast sixteen lanes of Highway 401, the busiest highway in the world.

Here is the kicker, and the redeemer of this new location.
Next to the pool, under the enclosed atrium constructed after the two hotel
towers were in place, is the restaurant. The food is moderate. It is easier to
grab a bite here than to find a place to park in this part of town and has
better choices than fast food. This restaurant has an amazing attraction, a
sushi bar. This is no ordinary sushi bar however. The man and woman who
carefully select and slice your California Roll, will step over to the white
grand piano between food preparation and entertain the guests. Similar to the
story of Arnel Pineda (the Filipino lead singer of Journey) this couple are very talented. With covers from Billy Joel, Sinatra, Herb
Albert and a mix of classic standards, you would think you were at a live
performance.

I don’t often recommend a place to eat or stay with lumpy
beds and average food, but this time I will make an exception, just for the
musical styling’s of the people making your sushi.

 

Best Amazon Reviews

One of my favorite things to read are funny review. There
are few better quick wits represented on the internet than those on Amazon.com.
Now I am not referring to those which are reviews of  my book “Peter in Flight”, thank God. Instead
these are a collection of the funniest reviews of common products. The first of these was around 2007 “The Mountain
Three Wolf Moon Short Sleeve Tee” It’s a popular tee with the ladies and has some
great reviews.

Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz is another of my favorites - "Has anyone else tried
pouring this stuff over dry cereal? A-W-E-S-O-M-E!" or "They really need to put
a warning label on this thing. Apparently, if you put it into your body, it
turns into urine. Urine!"

More recently the BIC
Cristal For Her Ball Pen, 1.0mm, Black, 16ct (MSLP16-Blk) has gotten some great
reviews poking fun at its very oddly specific gender design for the ladies.

Poems, videos,
stories, and reviews of a rapier wit are reflections of just how great the
consumer community can be in shaping the modern market place.

While my book has not been the focus of these
types of reviews, it certainly helps to keep things in perspective. For me, a
new self published author, anything that is 3 or more starts is huge. And when
it is less, I totally understand that this book is not for everyone, I am just
flatter someone has purchased it and taken the time to post his or her
thoughts. So thank you one and all for reading. Thank you for posting your
thoughts. I am humbled by your participation. Feel free to write a review that
makes one think like Patrick and his review of Uranium Ore, "I
purchased this product 4.47 Billion Years ago and when I opened it today, it
was half empty."