No Flag for You: Why business travel with women sucks
Back in the day before September 11th, business travel was the greatest thing that could ever happen to a young player. Fly in alone, use a few of your zillion loyalty points to upgrade to a Jag or an Escalade for no additional charge, check in to a nice suite, hit the town packing a corporate American Express card, handle your business like a champ, enjoy the good life for a few days, and then go home.
Those were the good old days. Here’s what it’s like now:
I almost never travel alone anymore, since companies want to “maximize interactive efforts”, which is a fancy way of saying “If you’re going there, take Lucy, Marci and Kenneth with you and try to kill 30 birds with one stone.” These days I land at an airport and wait for the other two or three to show up because they departed from different cities.
After that bit of joy, we all have to pile in to one freaking rental car – a midsized piece of shit like a 6 year old Nissan Altima from Dollar– and drive to the hotel where we have to wait for everyone to check in since it’s all on one account.
That’s when the real pain in the ass begins. It’s always, Always, ALWAYS the women who start in with the “Are you guys hungry? Want to meet back here in the lobby in 15 minutes? I heard there’s a little place down the street that’s supposed to be good.”
Oh, but it doesn’t end there.
“What are you doing tonight? Did Max send you that email about the schedule tomorrow? Should we print it off? Do you want to grab a drink tonight and talk about this project before the meeting? Let’s meet in the lobby at 6:45 a.m. for breakfast [even though the meeting is 5 minutes away and doesn’t start until 10 a.m.]. Marci can’t eat eggs, so we need to Google somewhere that has a fruit breakfast bar. I have a [49 year old fat and ugly married] friend who lives here, and she’s cooking dinner for all of us tomorrow tonight! Do you mind running me over to the Pharmacy? I forgot some stuff, and I don’t want to go alone. Let’s call the project manager and invite him to lunch tomorrow after the meeting. Do you know of any good places around here? You’ve been here before, right? There’s some good shopping down the street, so the four of us should ride down there together and buy gifts for back home. I can’t get a signal: mind if I use your phone in a couple of hours to call Mike? You’ll be around, right? We should grab drinks Wednesday night at this place I found on Yelp. What are your plans for Thursday? Let’s all meet together at…”
On and on and on it goes until I just want to reach out and punch them right in the goddamn face. Their demands are non-stop, and this happens on *Every *Single *Trip without exception.
In today’s business culture, a man absolutely must play nice with the wimminzes or face the wrath of the agency known as Chicks Usually Negotiate Togetherness For All Corporate Excursions, or CUNTFACE, which governs togetherness on business trips. If found guilty of not playing along, CUNTFACE has the power to vote a man off the corporate island before his next review, or torture him with a slow organizational death by starting the “He’s a little strange…” talk around the office.
Oooh. He’s a little strange? How so? Oooohh I’m so concerned for you. Have you filed a report with CUNTFACE yet? Let me know if you need my support; I always thought he was a little strange too. I’m so sorry sweetie…
Because of this, I can’t take the rental car in to town for a few hours to drink and look for ass, because Marci might get hungry but can’t go to dinner right now because she has a ton of emails to catch up on [No she doesn’t. Drama queen.] I can grab a cab, but the moment I get to my destination, I’ll start getting texts and forwarded emails that require my immediate attention [no they fucking don’t]. I can skip breakfast with the group, but that always leads to a “We could have really used your input on our discussion at breakfast this morning. Where were you?” conversation, which is actually more painful and anger-inducing than breakfast.
The only alone time I get is when I’m in bed or on the toilet trying to expel the girlie fluff food they had catered in to that day’s meeting. I curse their names every time I cream out a hummus and sprout load that’s not even capable of forming a proper turd.
That’s right; women impede my ability to take a healthy shit. Don’t laugh; it sounds trivial until you’re the one having to take a post-dump midday shower as fast as you can because everyone is – you guessed it – waiting for you in the lobby.
With all this going on, it’s easy to see why getting a flag is a monumental task when traveling on business with women. Take a look at this sad, sorry, totally embarrassing excuse for a travel flag track record:
Nine flags U.S.A.: Countless trips in 44 states.
No flag Argentina: 2 trips.
One flag Australia: 3 trips.
No flag Bahamas: 1 trip.
No flags Belgium: 6 trips.
One flag Brazil: 3 trips.
No flag Chile: 4 trips.
Two flags China: 7 trips.
No flag Colombia: 8 trips.
No flag Costa Rica: 1 trip.
No flag Dominican Republic: 1 trip.
No flag France: 4 trips.
No flag Germany: 1 trip.
No flag Greece: 1 trip.
No flag India: 9 trips.
One flag Italy: 2 trips.
No flag Japan: 3 trips.
One flag Panama: 1 trip.
No flag United Kingdom: 13 trips.
A few bangs in the States, but multiple visits to 18 foreign countries only yielded 6 flags. That’s utter bullshit. The international travel rules imposed by CUNTFACE are doubly brutal.
Clearly this post is mostly a rant, but I have some news for the younger guys out there who dream about a big corporate job with lots of international travel. Here’s what’s probably waiting for you a few rungs up the corporate ladder: a couple of 40-something year old fat bitches who can’t wipe their own asses without a group consensus, and the possibility of death by CUNTFACE if you hurt their wittle feewings. You don’t work for them and they don’t work for you, but the wimminz have the corporate travel policy on their side. That basically means that all their data-mining for gossip team-building exercises are technically corporate policy, including sticking together for safety, eating together to foster communication, sharing rental cars, and staying at the same hotel to reduce expenses.
Be careful what you wish for.
Well, I’m off to meet the ladies in the lobby [this post was written several weeks ago] because we have an early group dinner scheduled so Michelle can get back to the room and Skype with her kids. Then I’ll meet Elizabeth back at the lobby bar at 9:00 p.m. so we can talk about an oh-so-very-important issue that really doesn’t need our attention for at least another month. I’ll end my day by crawling in to bed mentally exhausted and alone, with the city of Seattle laughing at me right outside my window.
Quote from earlier today:
“Mentu, I just need some quiet. No offense or disrespect to them, but I really can’t handle much more of this. It’s just too much. It’s too bad we didn’t get to go downtown for a guy’s night out; maybe have a beer and chat up a few girls or something, you know?”
Yes Ken, I know. No flag for you either, buddy.
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