My Big Boss.

Most every day, I hit that 8:16 out of Hummerville, and step into work just about an hour later. The work gets done. I get a little morning play time with Little G and Little Miss C. Everyone wins.

Then you had to go and call for an all-day, offsite meeting (because that conference room at the W is soooo much different from the conference room at work), things kicking off this morning with a very important opening statement from you at 8:20.

8:20, Mr. Big Boss. Any other day, that’s about when my morning train is huffing and puffing into Valhalla, frequently skidding past the stop and having to back up just a few feet. But no. You had to commence that session in which we brainstormed unique ways to “drive strategy” at 8:20, meaning I had to be on the freakin’ 7 a.m. train this morning.

I set my damn alarm, for the first time since Little G was born over 2 1/2 years ago. I left without seeing a single member of my family. I guided my bike through the cool 6:50 a.m. air–indeed, it was actually cool.

I was a stranger in a strange land at the station I’ve called home for almost two years. I stepped onto that platform amidst dozens of peculiar faces, then eased onto the completely foreign 7 a.m. train, which was surprisingly packed. I felt like I was 21 again, stepping onto some Eurail express chugging to Amsterdam and packed with unsmiling Turks.

Whereas my beloved (OK, beliked) 8:16 is scheduled to arrive at GCT 48 minutes later, the 7 a.m. takes all of 49 minutes, despite having the exact same stops. What’s with that?

I hope you’re happy, Mr. Big Boss. That makes one of us.

Perturbedly,

Trainjotting

PS: Can you please ease up on the “going forward” phrase next time we get together to drive strategy?