Hello, my dear readers (all 12 of you):
Once again I find myself taking a business trip to the wonderful armpit of Iowa. Dubuque. Ok, so it's not that bad. It's not Solon, IA (Google that crap, it's scary). This time around, however, I find myself in good company. Nothing like getting lost, and now having someone in the car giggling to ease the nerves. My co-worker/friend Shanidy joined me on this training session, and here is a quick rundown of what has transpired so far.
We took off from our lovely little butt of Texas town at 7 a.m. This doesn't sound too bad, I suppose, if we would've been in a normal sized plane. Alas, we were packed into a shoebox and shipped to Iowa, via Dallas/Fort Worth. If none of you have been lucky enough to experience the DFW airport in the flesh, let me give you a small insight on what to expect. The departing gate numbers change about as often as you breathe. That's right. You go in to pee, and walk out and your gate number has changed to the other end of the terminal. Once you walk there, it's been changed back to where you were. When you get back, it's moved two gates down...you get it.
Upon arrival at the Cedar Rapids field/airport/manicure/gas station, we contemplated what was some white stuff on the ground everywhere. Nice. Half-frozen, we huddled inside our Sebring like good little executives and turned on the radio. The first words we hear, while stranded in the middle of snow, were: 'I got my toes in the water, ass on the sand...'. This was enough to turn the radio back off, and look for my GPS. We needed out of there.
After yelling at my Garmin, and her yelling back...we decided to simply use our BlackBerries to find the directions to Williamsburg, IA. There we had an afternoon of serious shopping, and a delicious chocolate covered apple. What's not to like? These outlets were oddly close to an Amish colony. Which brings me to my next theory. When I lived in Pennsylvania, the Tanger outlets were located in Amish country (Lancaster, PA). I've come to find that most of the outlets are located near these people. So, that being said, it is my professional and irrelevant opinion that the Amish own outlets. There. Now I have a stereotype for Amish people. OUTLET OWNERS!
We found Dubuque, eventually, while driving through some intense fog. The hotel was nice, the food at the hotel was adequate and we got lost several times. You see a trend here.
I finally gave in, against my better judgement, and decided to message some Twitter person from town I had been following. There is NO way to explain how this came about without sounding like a creepy stalker, then again, isn't that what Twitter is all about? I digress. After a few messages and slight persuasion, Shanidy and I met up some local Twitter folk at The Busted Lift. Hands down one of the best/most authentic Irish pubs I've been in. Drinks were good, company was awesome. As many of you know by now, I have a love/hate relationship with meeting new people. I like the idea of it, but the thought (and past experiences) of people being disappointed once they meet me was taking a toll when we walked in the pub. Shanidy dragged me in, quite literally, and plopped me down on a stool like a nice lad. I couldn't even really eat dinner, since I was very nervous, Shanidy yelled at me for being silly. Eventually everything turned out okay. So...yay? Yes, yay.
We'll see what the rest of week brings, hopefully more quiet/bar-like environment hanging out is in store. I certainly wouldn't mind. True story.
Oh...and I'm Moss.
P.S.S.: I. FOUND. WONKA. BARS.
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