So then…Lou (our Finance VP), Henry (our Operations VP), and I approach the gate just in time to hear that our connecting flight home is delayed 30 minutes.
My face crumples in frustration.
Lou’s face twitches in aggravation.
Henry’s face is expressionless because he is a robot.
No, seriously, I have long suspected Henry is not actually human. Always punctual. Never goofs around. Follows all the rules. Never shows emotion. Always approaches problems logically.
Totally serious and buttoned-up. I’m pretty sure he has an Iphone app to schedule his poops.
When the Sales & Marketing crew and I are hootin’ and hollerin’ and carryin’ on, Henry steadfastly ignores us and quietly does his work.
When Lou’s Finance team is stressin’ and sweatin’ over the budget numbers, Henry methodically completes his tasks.
When the salty sailors among us spout profanity at missed shipments or demanding clients, Henry piously looks away to continue his duties.
When we take a longer lunch to celebrate a huge purchase order, Henry remains in his office, writing another Policy & Procedure (most likely regarding maximum time allowed for celebratory lunch breaks.)
He is robot or he is Vulcan. I swear by it.
So now the 3 of us have 30 minutes to indulge in WHATEVER WE WANT — so we quickly scatter, agreeing to meet back at a central table in the food court.
After 2 boring days at the corporate conference and several hours on the first flight, I know what I’m craving – but I can’t locate any hot pilots in an empty travel lounge –
So I settle for second best – the ice cream kiosk. Come to mama, you sweet, creamy bowl of devilish deliciousness!
I plop down at the table with my over-the-top hot fudge sundae just as Finance Lou approaches with his little luxury – a stiff drink. A double, no less!
As I inhale my sugary carbs and Lou savors his liquor, I can only imagine what constitutes a “guilty pleasure” for Henry.
And here he comes, with a roast beef sandwich with lettuce on whole wheat bread.
Well, of course.
He chooses something nutritious and appropriate.
He is a robot.
Just as I’m laughing to myself about our choices, Henry reaches down into his briefcase and pulls out…a small bottle of HOT SAUCE!
(He travels with his own bottle of HOT SAUCE?)
He slathers the spicy sauce all over his sandwich, takes a huge bite and beams — hot sauce dribbling down his chain.
Ahhh, Henry, you’ve restored my faith in your humanity.
Perhaps you are not a robot after all!
— Darcy Perdu
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(OK, quick, you’ve got 30 extra minutes at the airport – what do you do? Massage kiosk? Those weird oxygen bars? Book/magazine? Favorite food or alcohol? Horny flight attendant? Do tell!)
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