I think my personal best was flying out of a dinky airport in NY state (with an incredible snack selection, though; kudos), to speak in Green Bay, WI the next day and the Twin Cities the day after that. Keynote speaker at 3 National Philanthropy Days in 3 days. I don't remember much except running, dragging, buying snacks, speaking; repeat in reverse.
Not to mention the time my flight for Denver from Pittsburgh left 8 hours late due to a PA blizzard. The pilots bought pizza for every passenger who hadn't given up and gone home. They promised we'd leave; the final flight was a quarter full. Landed at dawn, got an invite to Denver's best Ethiopian restaurant from my cabbie, checked into the conference hotel for 1 hour's sleep, did the gig, checked out, went home; probably crashed for 24 hours.
Or how about that time my plane taxied for takeoff in Odessa, TX (which smells of oil ... literally; it's the "drill, baby, drill" capital of the world). The pilot suddenly got a bad dashboard light. He taxied back to the gate (I'd moved about 400 yards in total by that time, none of them in the air). And, lo, there wasn't a room to be had in town. The oil boom was so hot they were scouring the jails for employees. The airline was as helpful as could be. I think I slept that night alongside some hotel's vending machines.
Or, hey, that time in Winnipeg, when Simone forgot her passport ... and I had to present for both of us. Having spent years rebuffing her: "You know what you know. I know what I know. I don't have to know what you know, too. Just tell me what to do."
Or then there's O'Hare. O'Hare's special. It's in the middle of a continent. A super-hub. Weather conditions across North America effect O'Hare's arrivals and departures. What road warrior doesn't have a great O'Hare story? Like the time all flights were grounded ... and I snuggled into a dim hallway cot beneath a thin blanket at 3 AM. There were thousands of other passengers on cots under thin blankets stuffed in the halls, as far as the eye could see. O'Hare looked like the London Tube during the Blitz.
First: My name's not THOMAS. It's TOM.
I would never give a penny to any fundraising robot that doesn't get that right. And you can thank ActBlue for that persistent mistake. They go by my credit card name, not my common name. And never asked my preference.
I can't vote in the first district, anyway; so I'm really not your target audience. I have, however, given serious money to candidate Aaron, because I like a flaming progressive; I think he has fire power. Spoken with candidate Sabina, too; be happy with her. There are what? 33 other candidates as well? Oh, my.
And Walter, who are you again? I know what you're not (your paragraph 4).
How was the opening rate on your subject line? Not exactly a barn burner declaration.
And starting with a statistic in your email is how you lose the "3-second test." (I can explain; it comes from neuroscience.)
All this must sound like criticism. Honestly, may the best candidate win. David C. did RI proud, especially during the worst of the Trump years. Little Rhody can punch well above its weight ... with the right people in office (Whitehouse, Jack Reed).
And, yes, I know no one's listening. Hi, robot!
~ tom (not thomas)