When I was a young airline pilot and new to ‘the road’ I ranked hotels by their proximity to good food and entertainment. Now, I judge hotels on two things: internet speed and shower pressure. Oh, and free breakfast. I’m not even a breakfast guy. But when it’s free – I’m a kid in a
I often watch in amazement as gate agents in airports can so blatantly blow off our passengers in their time of need. I know there are plenty of times when there is nothing they can do to rectify the situation, but I’m sure a little compassion would make the hard news easier to swallow. Often,
A four-day trip the week of Thanksgiving took me to Columbus, Ohio. Since I was to spend the holiday alone in the hotel, S. decided to drive up from visiting her grandparents in Pittsburgh. She had our cousin Troy with her, so we figured we’d play in Ohio for the night and let him see
As I made my way down the aisle yesterday for my flight back from Tampa, I saw two kids sitting in the row I was to take. They had the aisle and middle seats, and I was to sit by the window where a bald baby doll was strapped in. The mom was in the
Jesuit high school. All-boys. Shirt and tie. A Beanie for freshmen, Catholic guilt baked into the curriculum. Everyone else had cars or rides or parents with flexible schedules. I had the city bus. The H.A.R.T. Line. Hillsborough Area Regional Transit. Big red heart logo, which, after a few sunburned summers, faded to a kind of
