Life Lesson #2

When I land in Mumbai this trek is sadly far from over because this flight was 3 hours delayed and now I need to find a new flight to my destination in Hyderabad. To keep things interesting neither my cell phone or blackberry can make calls. Text messages to cell #s in the US work, as if that was worth 3 rupees to me now. Walking to multiple desks and attempting to communicate with several security guards (at about 80lbs and 4" I am not sure who or what they are capable of securing...but I digress) I find that I need to take an unnamed bus to another terminal where I am to find the next flight. How to go about any of this seems as simple as learning how to urinate Pepsi. I am so uncomfortable I can taste it. Luckily the Air India guy has written on the back of my boarding pass "IC 617 9:00" in blue bic pen and pointed East. Fantastic. Again, with limited communication available, I am on the opposite side of the world with my sole chance of reaching my final connecting flight resting with a tiny man's shorthand on the back of a boarding pass.
One more oompa loompa guard's approval and a healthy rat running across twenty yards of of open floor in the terminal towards a random exit lead me towards the tarmac (look it up Jason!!) where a bus is sitting. Not the Air India bus, not even a bus driven by a guy with an Air India uniform, there were just a few dudes wearing Ross's 97 winter line standing around a bus. I say fuck it, thank the lord that I have trained half my life to use my body as a weapon because this is uncertainty on a new level, and I grab a seat in the second row. Stragglers and randoms fill in to while I pray for hope. The bus is actually similar to the game buses at Stanford when we would get police escorts into the stadiums on Saturdays. The reassuring feeling I get from that quip is destroyed the moment the driver turns the ignition.

Life Lesson #2: ALL INDIAN DRIVERS SECRETLY COVET DANGER AND WERE TRAINED SINCE BIRTH TO DRIVE LIKE A FORMULA 1 RACE.

The bus accelerates like we are trying to lift off. When a few guys up ahead walked infront of the bus's path they got only a headlight flash by the driver because apparently, a few human lives are not worthy of a honk, let alone the brake pedal. Next up ahead a tractor, yes tractor, pulling some baggage carts wondered in front of us. This was honkworthy but not enough for brakes so we bank right to avoid it. The driver of the tractor seemed accustomed to our 12 ton vehicle in close proximity because hell this is India!. It is important to remember that we are on the tarmac and within a few hundred yards of landing and departing Boeing 767s so I assumed one's driving would be how should I put this; risk averse. Instead we are cruising at about 50mph and with a purpose.

I learn immediately that in this culture abiding by lane lines and overall caution is disrespectful to all civil engineers who designed roads, and 5000 Hindu gods, respectively. We were joined in paying these respects by many others including trucks, pedestrians, and more tractors all of whom felt it appropriate to make blind turns by crossing over dividers into opposing traffic lanes. Driving schools in India consider looking over one's shoulder while making a hard right turn to be a great insult to other drivers, especially large and speeding buses. The theory of signaling while you turn is treated the same way you and I think of people believing the world was flat; so out of place we laugh at the notion.

This experience is not new to the world as it was gracefully depicted in the movie Speed, and while that thought made me comfortable for a nanosecond, I quickly realized my driver looks nothing like Keanu Reeves. He did have flowing black hair though; flowing because the bus doors have been open the entire time. We careen on a hard left through a tight turn only to pitch right partially onto a dirt embankment to avoid three creeping vehicles on the right lane and the whole maneuver is so dangerous I am impressed. Dale Earnhardt Jr would be aroused. This should be on a promotional video touting the handling ability of 90-passenger buses.

There is relief in site, or perhaps a 'pitstop' is the right word. A gate is up ahead and there are way to many people crowded about even for us to make it and I am excited for the reprieve. When we slow to a stop and inch through the crowd I see dozens of security guards about with machine guns. Great. Just when I thought it was going to get boring for twenty whole seconds. India is not done welcoming me. So to recap we have a speeding bus, a third world airport, and heavily armed militia. With this I realize I am not flying to Hyderabad to work but instead trapped inside a Jerry Bruckheimer wet dream.

Its go time

I am writing this already 25 hours into a trip that is far from over. Basically last night I took a 13.5 hr flight to Delhi, India. From there I will connect to Mumbai where I will connect again to Hyderabad. Though I am just over the hump now, too much has already happened to not share...

Life Lesson #1: DON'T GET A RIDE TO NEWARK INTERNATIONAL FROM SOME GIRL YOU ARE KINDA FRIENDS WITH AND HOOKED-UP WITH A FEW TIMES A FEW YEARS AGO AND TAKE A CAB YOU IDIOT!

Yeah, I am all for being good to people and maintaining friendships but the rewards of a free ride (which is expensable) and being nice do not compare to the risk of missing a flightyourcompanyispayingfor which spans two days and five time zones. Now for the readers at home unfamiliar with New York allow me to paint a picture: a ride from mid-town Manhattan to Newark Airport in New Jersey on a Sunday evening should take 50 min max. Flight is at 8:50pm. Its my first international flight from this airport so let's be safe and arrive 2hrs early. I ask her to pick me up at 6pm (read: should give me 2+ hrs at airport).

So this chick shows up late, all smiles, and already my gut tells me to grab a yellowcab but the ingrained-to-be-nice-to-all-people-no-matter-what-quality-drilled
-into-me-by-my-parents prevails and I get in her crusty Rav-4. In all fairness to Christina, who I have not seen for over a year and turned down several of her attempts to meet-up cuz she just didn't seem to score to high on sanity aptitude tests, she did offer to give me a ride as means to catch up. Turning down nice gestures is not my style as being kind is very important. But why do I get myself in situations like this? No answer comes to mind so like most New Yorkers, I blame my mother. Shortly into the trip I notice we are headed to a tunnel that doesn't seem to be one that will bring us closer to my destination. Travis does not like this.

At this point she overlaughs at some tepidly witty comment I make and in that instance four notions flash in my mind:

1)This girl wants another chance
2)The traffic into this tunnel is like a parking lot
3)What the hell am I doing in some girl's car less than 12 hours after Natalie left from her week long visit (more to come on Natalie and this point soon)
...and loudest of all...
4) You are a dumbass for this.

I have to make this flight. So as Christina yapps about her dream of law school had to be postponed for her dream of producing film (which didn't explain why she just took a part time job in a data management role that allows her to work at home and requires her to call 4 software programmers who also work at home, an effort she is quick to identify as "managing". The job was given to her by her friend because he didn't like to see her "not being productive in her life". I am not omnipotent nor-a self made millionaire but when a person reveals they work from home I think they are generally on the slow track to success and tend to live in a world of bullshit. All of the reasons I stopped taking this girl's calls a while ago are becoming crystal clear. Damn her sexy Latina vibe and broad smile! Sub life lesson: people without W-2s are not good choices to get you to important flights) all I can think of is the time. My eyes are locked on the dashboard clock and I don't like that it is now 7:04.

I interrupt "Should we be taking the Holland Tunnel?"
"Don't worry tiger"

Tiger! Tiger!?! Woman, you never came close to qualifying yourself as someone worthy of giving me a pet name and who the hell are you to tell me when to worry!? I graduate from the schools I attended. I start my work day before 1pm. And this Tommy Chong attitude isn't getting us any closer to my plane!

7:22. Even for a domestic flight I would not want to be here. It is go time. The look and comment I gave her worked because one illegal u-turn later and this Dominican bohemian morphed into Mario Andretti.

Then she reminds me why some people shouldn't talk by adding "Don't worry, I know a few people that work at Continental in Newark"

The fact your fat cousin Chulo is a baggage handler at an airport that employs over 3000 people does not calm me!

Soon we are flirting with 93mph on the NJ turnpike and I feel the pangs of karma. Karma that tells me that I will die at the age of 27, on a freeway with someone meaningless to me because I used questionable judgment in picking transportation methods and let some dumb chick think she has a shot at the title.

Somehow I live. Lesson 1? Learned.