Unlike the businessman in the picture, I do not think I own the stars or that I have any responsibility to count them. This does not mean, however, that I am without folly. Like the Dancing with the CEO, I have had my share of idiocy.
One of my favorite stories about myself does involve a business man or two, or twelve and an airport lounge in some city that I can't remember. Maybe it was Chicago. The location isn't really important although the farther away from anyone who might know me, the better.
Traveling can be a real pain. I got stranded in far away cities and couldn't be home to put my kids to bed. I also had a pain in the neck employer that wouldn't spring for things like airport lounges, but I had somehow scored free passes. On a weather delay, stranded in whatever city this was along with the population of Martha's Vineyard in summer, I fumbled my way into the Northwest Sky Lounge for free cookies and wine by the glass.
It was packed to the gills with men.
I like men, but not when they're in my way and impeding my path to cookies and wine.
Their feet were flopping around at odd angles, their bags were askew, their briefcases, askance.
I spotted a seat by the window and plotted my trail through the professional carnage. My shoes were tall, my skirt was short and I shoved my way as graciously as possible while hauling my rolling briefcase to the haven by the window. Until...
I did not just fall, I cascaded. I whooped. I flopped. I probably exposed myself.
Time stood still as I careened over baggage and feet and empty beer bottles. And then I landed...
Face first. In the lap of a sleeping man.
Of course, he woke up.
Someone had tried to catch me. Unsuccessfully. It was the crotch of the salesman from Dubuque that caught my fall.
Pleasant words were exchanged. The lounge was in a ruckus. I stood up.
"Wow!" he said. "It's not very often I wake up with a woman in my lap!"
Mortified, I said, "I do expect to be paid."
The weather delay went on for another five or six hours so no one left the lounge. Every time I stood up, people winced and ducked. Someone offered to bring out orange cones so I wouldn't hurt myself or anyone else. The bartender pre-emptively cut off my liquor.
When my flight was finally called, I slinked to the gate hoping to leave the lap dance behind and was pleased to see the entire first class cabin filled with men from the lounge- laughing at me. I found my seat and hoped my next job would have no travel expense account to count stars.