I had to get to the airport today by early evening, or so I thought. I agreed to play tennis a couple of times, late morning and mid-day, anticipating leaving for the airport by 6. After tennis, I came home, and spent quite a lot of time in the garden. Then, I started to get ready to leave. I checked the itinerary and found that I did not, actually, have to get to the airport at 6. I had to be there in time to be on a flight that left at 6. All of a sudden, I needed to leave an hour earlier, and I was out of time. I threw some stuff in a bag and raced out the door.
This reminded me of another trip, at about the same time of year, a few years ago. Just like today, I planned to leave for the airport after tennis. At that time, I lived in Boulder, and I had my bags packed and in the car. My plan was to change clothes after tennis, and head to the airport.
Just like today, I checked the itinerary once I’d finished playing, and found the flight left at the time that I thought I needed to be heading to the airport. I threw on my trench coat over tennis whites, ran to the gas station and fueled up for the long drive to the airport, and drove as fast as I could.
On the way to the airport, I noticed more than one person honking and pointing to the side of my car. I figured it was the usual—the edge of my coat caught in the door. They were quite aggressive about it, and I ended up thinking “Geez, People, I’ve got a flight to catch and you’re worried about my coat caught in the door? Let’s not get too carried away with the helpful citizen thing.”
At the airport, I parked, grabbed my bag from the back of the car, and started running to the terminal. As I ran past my car, something caught my eye. I stopped and looked closer. It was the nozzle and hose from the gas station. In my haste, I’d driven off without detaching it. That’s what all the good Samaritans were pointing at on the highway.
I threw it in the car, to be returned a few days later, after circling the gas station and waiting until no customers were present to witness the return.
I was off to the MBA conference on that trip. I met my friend Tom Cronin there. He didn’t work for me yet, though he would soon become my sales director at Murrayhill, a position he would hold for many successful years at that Hill. Tom just recently took a job with our friends at Collingwood, the DC-based consultants we’ve worked with, to great success. It’s a perfect fit for him. When Tom saw me at the MBA, in a tennis skirt and trench coat, he must have thought I was a loser, but I think I grew on him. Some things don’t change, and I’ll hopefully be playing tennis when I should be packing, at ninety-five. Tom will be introducing people from across the industry to one-another and we’ll all get together at a conference in the fall.