Professional Maturation

I'm freshly back from my first business trip, and somehow I feel much more grown up - the mystery is gone from a few of the multitude dark corners of human experience.

My company has service branches scattered throughout the world, and manufacturing plants in Illinois, South Carolina, Spain, and Germany. Since knowledge of the machine is fairly important when it comes to writing its manual, my position has a built-in excuse for travel, but this was the first time that I dared to take advantage of it. Fortunately, my job still retains a great deal of mystery within the engineering department, and I can make most of my own decisions without even consulting my superiors; my immediate boss suffers from a lack of manegerial motivation and a fear of women as a species, which explains why he hasn't asked for an update on my work since January.

I flew down to South Carolina on Monday, after stopping by my office for a few hours to do some last minute work and leave the boys a plate of peanut butter cookies. Anton's secretary had arranged all my transportation for the trip; I must have done something recently to make Anton happy, because I stepped out of my apartment to find a white limo standing ready to take me to the airport. I sat in the back seat, wrapped in my Indian shawl, reading Gaskell's North and South, and feeling very grown-up and professional.



For those of you who have never visited Chicago's O'Hare airport, the place is a labyrinth. It has four separate terminals, connected by a monorail system, and covers enough ground to merit its own zip code. The first time I went there to pick someone up, it took me nearly an hour just to find her. Fortunately, O'Hare is a little easier to navigate when you're the tourist. I checked my bag, and wandered half a mile to the end of one of the terminals to encounter the first of my "firsts": an itty bitty airplane. Apart from brief rides in a helicopter and a hot air balloon, all of my aerial travels were taken in big Boeing aircrafts; it was so exciting to be able to walk out onto the tarmac and smell the jet fuel and hear the roar of planes all around me. I was half tempted to turn around and give the peace sign when I reached the plane door, but I managed to restrain myself.

After reaching Charleston, my second "first" involved renting a car. Yes, you heard right, I've never rented a car before. The man at the counter tried to sweet talk me into signing up for all the insurance and fuel packages, but I was forewarned at Peddinghaus that I was already covered by the compnay's insurance, and so I was able to refuse them all with confidence. I got in my little silver Chevy Cobalt, and struck out for Georgetown in the rapidly approaching darkness. Once there, I had the last of my "firsts": checking into a hotel by myself. By the end of the day, I felt so grown-up and experienced (feel free to snicker if you know me at all).

My work in Andrews went well; I had little to do, since the computers were not set up correctly, and I could not do half the work I had originally planned on. Andrews gives the feeling that it's in its death throes; driving along the main street, you can see nothing but gutted commercial and residential buildings, mouldering trailer homes, torn-up streets, and men and dogs wandering the roads with empty eyes. I called my mom at lunch to tell her that I had wandered into a Stephen King novel - it's that creepy.

Fortunately, I was able to find a dose of civilization every night, in the form of an Asian bistro and sushi bar called Emi. After work, I would go to the hotel, change, drive to Pawleys Island, and spend at least an hour lingering over delicious sushi. Trav, you'll be proud of me - I tried salmon skin for the first time, and loved it!

And so, here I am, back at home, and feeling well-traveled. Next stop: Vittoria, Spain! (That is, after over six months, and only after I have come up with an airtight reason to go.)