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July 26, 2016
Return to Hell
On the plane, we take off in the dark. There's a man up in front of me and I'm reasonably sure he will die on the plane. He's coughing like he won't live.
The fight attendants scurry to the back of the plane to be as far from him as possible. I have on my bose acoustic noise canceling headphones.
We land at Ontario, and there's the police sitting out there on the tarmac. So odd to see police parked on the runway, but always they are here.
Now, we spill out in front of the terminal 4 waiting on the shuttle for long term parking. I get tired of waiting and decide to walk down to Parking Lot 5. This turns out to be a mistake, I think. I walk past the man in the box. He sits in there and charges people when the leave. But now, he sees me walking by him carrying a motorcycle helmet.
And then, I drive across the sidewalk and leave without paying. But, this is sort of tricky because I end up driving the wrong way down the street for a bit. I'm sure he noticed that I didn't pay. Next time I'll take the shuttle, so we don't have this issue. Also, flying in this late makes it much more visible, obviously.
Now, I'm riding down I-10 and, it's true that I rode my motorcycles in 2 different timezones today, but it wasn't really like I'd imagined. The KTM handles a lot differently than the XR, and I'm racing down I-10 in a hairdryer of hot air and sweat. Exhausted. Near collapse. This is close to something, but I'm not sure what. Close to collapse, really.
I go back to the Motel 6. They already have me ready when I check in. They remember my name and everything and stick me in the back of the Motel 6.
The third week in a Motel 6 is when you realize that you have to kill yourself, if for no other reason than to maintain your dignity.
This is no place to live. Everything is closed. I end up driving to a gas station and forcing myself through the panhandlers to get some snacks for dinner.
They're like walking zombies. It never gets cold here, so they sort of just wander around like the walking dead.
I crash hard in the motel, and now the alarm is ringing and it's morning. I turn it off, but soon it is ringing again. I've set multiple alarms because Tuesday morning is our status meeting, and I need to be there.
Now, racing down the highway on my KTM, going into work. Somehow, this is my 3rd week and I still need a GPS to drive 6 miles to work. I walk into the meeting like a zombie. Barely awake. Barely alive.
Now, meetings and meetings to review progress of the test cases, and I don't really have any progress. Just muddled confusion and spreadsheets and timesheets and meeting after meeting and coffee and more coffee.
You just can't imagine the complexity of these meetings. We run sharepoint to share desktops, and no one can keep up with what's going on. It's just screen after screen and app after app and I'm just biting my nails, hoping that no one can smell the fear.
When will I be done? I have no idea what they're even talking about. "Thursday." Always Thursday.
There's no way I'm going to get on a plane on Thursday. Instead, I'll drive down to Rosarito, Mexico, Baja California Del Norte.
Posted by Rob Kiser on July 26, 2016 at 12:42 PM
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