Sweet Mother of God. It was 103 degrees in the shade here in Phoenix today. Dry heat my butt. My oven is dry heat too and you don’t see me sticking my head in there do you?
So I coped the way you’d expect. We took the Mustang Convertible at the rental car lot, because, well… it was a Mustang Convertible. And then we drove around with the top down, because, well… It was a Mustang Convertible.
Yeah, I’m that stupid.
Nothing a cold beer at the airport wouldn’t fix though. If all goes according to plan I will be home by 11 pm. This being Arizona though, half of the folks boarding the plane are upwards of 70 years old. The other half are crying infants. It may take a while to board this puppy.
The great grandma across the aisle just gave her great grandson a shot of Benedryl. I half considered asking for a hit myself. Might make the flight a little more enjoyable.
It’s 5 pm here, and I’m facing a 3 hr flight with nothing but a warm diet Coke and a bag of pretzels. So I splurged on a bag of Wendy’s fastfood, that is now sitting on my lap, the grease soaking through the paper bag onto my dress pants, as the smell mingles with the over ripe, decaying flower smells of our plane load of Grandmas to create an olfactory exprerience that somehow has miraculously managed to drown out the smell of sweat and body odor.
Yes, business travel is that glamorous.
See you in Minnesota.