Have Gun(n), Will Travel

Armed with little more than a laptop and rollerboard suitcase, I am the ultimate corporate road warrior these days. Unfortunately, the accumulation of frequent flyer miles doesn't exactly compensate for a lot of the nightmares that occur when traveling. Here's a snapshot of the first part of my current trip:

-- Nearly tossed my cookies upon arriving at JFK airport (from Manhattan) last week on my way out of NY. Had a particularly jerky driver (commentary on his driving style, not necessarily on his personality overall) and by the time he jerked and swerved his way to the airport, my stomach was ready to do some swerving of its own. Blasted into the terminal to the nearest bathroom only to discover, that's right, a LINE. (Imagine THAT -- a waiting line for a women's restroom!) Managed to hang onto my cookies (barely), but not without the whole nauseous incident converting itself into the sweats and a splitting headache.

-- Six hours later, arrive in San Diego and drive to my hotel. Park in the designated parkade (that's "parking structure" for my American friends) and come up the elevator only to find myself in the lobby of an office building and my hotel is literally a quarter mile away. Did I mention I now have not eaten anything for about 12 hours?

-- Finally get to my room and open my suitcase only to find that my bags have been completely ransacked by shady airline/airport/TSA staff and yes, items have been stolen.

-- Spend the next 45 minutes on the phone with various airline and airport personnel railing about the general state of the human condition (particularly that of the lowlife who invaded my personal space and stole my personal things) and demanding that SOMEONE be held accountable for their employee's criminal actions. I am assured that it is very helpful that I have reported the incident (what ELSE would I have done??) because it helps them narrow down what shifts these "incidents" are occurring on and ostensibly which of their shady employees is running a theft ring behind baggage carousel number one. (I still have not eaten.)

-- Calm down enough to finally crawl into bed in the wee hours of the morning and grab a fitful few hours of sleep.

-- Retrace my steps in the morning in order to find my car and find myself in a part of the parkade that does not look remotely familiar and my eco-friendly Prius rental is nowhere to be found. Even though I was nearly delirious with hunger the night before when I arrived, I made special note of where I was parked and even noted the number of the space I was in. I trudged back up to the lobby and demanded the clerk on duty to tell me what, pray tell, had become of parking space #114 since 11:00 the night before. As it turned out, they had closed off an entire section of the garage with a giant garage door and I wasn't losing my mind -- the Prius was exactly where I left it, but I just couldn't get to it using the previous night's route.

-- I get in the Prius, miraculously find my way out of the Hall of Mirrors parkade, only to discover that my failsafe GPS can't find any satellite signals to hook me up to. I can nearly picture Stella (this is the name I have christened the female GPS voice with) tipping back in her chair, throwing her feet up on the desk, lighting a cigarette and after the first deep inhale, shaking her head and saying, "Sorry, sweetheart, you're on your own now."