-Everything is calculated in miles when you travel for business – the length of your flights, the distance from the airport to the hotel, and the size of the frequent flier bonus you get for stopping in Atlanta for no fucking reason. What’s not measured is the wear and tear that jet setting inevitably exacts on your soul. One can only take so much. As I’ve crisscrossed the country over the past few weeks on tour (yes, I realize calling that “business” travel is a stretch), I feel I’ve reached the limit of how many indignities one person can suffer. If frustration, helplessness, and discomfort could be measured in miles, I’d be a platinum member greeted by name and given hand jobs in the Admirals Club.

-Nowhere in the airport is there more silent tension than between the anxious people waiting around to board, and those smug fucks who have just landed. No one likes you; keep walking, assholes.

-It boggles my mind that more vagrants don’t just steal luggage from the baggage claim. There’s no security down there and hundreds of free life-starter kits are just circling around, ripe for the taking. It’s a hobo’s wet dream.

-Whenever I’m traveling somewhere random, I’m astonished that there are actually other people on the flight. Nashville to Minneapolis on a Wednesday? Who else could possibly need to take this route but me?

-Mark my words: the next airline hijacking will be attempted by passengers disgruntled about having to pay to check a bag. How the fuck did they slip that one right under our noses? That’s like a restaurant serving you a burger and then assessing a chewing fee.

-If I’m staying in a hotel for three days or less, I keep the Do Not Disturb sign on the entire time. I’ve never changed my sheets or towels after three days in my life, and I can’t comprehend how that amenity is worth allowing a complete stranger to enter my room and perhaps touch my pajamas.

-Even if I don’t allow them in the room, I always leave a tip for housekeeping. Not for good service, but because it makes me feel like if I happen to leave something in the room after checking out, they will be grateful enough to return it. Like receiving $3.62 in dimes, nickels, and pennies is incentive not to jack my MacBook Pro.

-Really, though, housekeeper has got to be the worst job ever. Not only are you a housekeeper, but you’re the one who always finds the bodies.

-Whenever I fly between two cities that are a couple hundred miles apart, people ask me why I didn’t just drive. Whenever I drive between two cities that are a couple hundred miles apart, people ask me why I didn’t just fly. I hate people.

-In the end, travel is just plain bad for your self-esteem. No one looks good in a hotel room mirror after a two-hour unscheduled layover in Chicago. When I occasionally stay in a shitty, off-brand, cheapest-I could-find-online hotel, I find myself looking at the worn placard on the bathroom sink that reads, “Forget anything?” and think, “Yeah. My dignity.”

-As always, here are some random things I’ve been ruminating about lately…

-Definition of conflict of interest: having tickets to your team’s “if necessary” playoff game.

-I’m calling for an immediate embargo on OOO TMI. I don’t care that you’re out of the office for maternity or bereavement leave. Just let me know when you’ll be back so I can get on with my life.

-Be wary when you’re told that “only a few candidates are being considered” and then are given an interview slot at exactly 2:50pm. Clearly they’re doing this in ten-minute intervals in order to herd as many chumps through as possible.

-I just sent an email to my best friend. His wife replied from his account. Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?

-Torture means only seeing the Auntie Anne’s in the airport concourse when you’re already on the moving walkway and having to double back for that pretzel-y goodness.

-Orange juice that sorta tastes like grapefruit juice is both confusing and suspicious.

-I just assume that every plate is microwave-safe. I believe this will ultimately lead to my demise.

-You know how you can’t find the original of the crucial document that’s so important you made a copy of it for your files? Yeah, you left it in the copy machine. You can thank me later.

-I have never seen a radar detector that was either helpful or not annoying.

-When someone says, “Oh, well, I have a wireless network so you should just be able to print from your laptop to my printer,” you can save time by just skipping to the part where you give up in frustration because it won’t fucking work.

-And, finally, the most frightening part of having so many miles under your belt is that you begin to transform into the people you hate the most. For instance, I was waiting in line at airport security last week, wondering why the “Expert Traveler” queue was populated with expecting mothers and pre-dementia elderly, when I struck up a casual conversation with the woman behind me. I shared my annoyance about having to pay to check luggage and my joke about transients robbing the baggage claim. She simply smiled patronizingly and turned away. Oh. My. God. I’ve become one of those people who talk to strangers in airport security lines. I’m a monster. Shunned by other travelers, I trudged glumly through security, only to set off the metal detector. “Forget anything?” the harried TSA worker asked. “Yeah,” I thought to myself, “My dignity.” Fuck me.

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