Category: Blogging

Part II – Don’t Eavesdrop

From the Business Travel Log

Part II – Don’t Eavesdrop

I dropped off my rental, boarded a bus and rode to the terminal. I printed my boarding pass and started my prep for security.

First, I removed suspenders, watch, wallet, keys, change, bills, glasses, phone and threw all in my backpack. Next, I breezed right through security check. After restoring suspenders, wallet, watch, etc., to their proper place it was time to find a coffee shop.

Now I sit at my gate, sipping my coffee and i read. Two young adults dressed in business attire sit in the two seats to my left.

“What time do we meet with the senator?”, the young lady asks her colleague.

I tell myself, Don’t eavesdrop.

“Eleven-Thirty”, her colleague responds.

I tell myself, It doesn’t matter how loud they talk. Don’t eavesdrop.

“We really need support”, the young lady continued.

I tell myself, Okay, eavesdrop.

“We need the funding”, the young man remarks.

My ears swell.

“What are you guys taking about”, says a gentleman, closer to my age, who just walked up to where we were seated. “I could hear you halfway down the concourse.”

Now I wanted to turn my head and see how blush both of their faces were. Nonetheless, I kept looking at my phone. The chatter ended.

“Good morning passengers, Flight Ninety-Four to Reagan-National D.C. is ready to start boarding…” boomed over the intercom. Disappointed, I put away my phone, grabbed my roller bag and fell in line, right behind the two chatter boxes and their older colleague. The whispering begins.

#travellogforatravelblog

jerryjohnsonblog jtjohnpoet.com

Observations

Observations

Why is everything crafted these days? Nothing is “made” anymore.

Everything is crafted. There are craft beers —at the top of the list, mind you. You look at a list of twenty five craft beers and you are overwhelmed. Some have really cool names like Fat Belly Duck, Short Tailed Dog, Skinny Whiny Rooster and so on. Of course I made up all the names listed in the last line but you get my drift.

“Pardon me bartender, is the Fat Belly Duck a lager, an ale, an IPA?”

“How the hell should I know?”, reply the more gruff bartenders.

“Sweety-or Boss- there are twenty five of these craft beers in the list, too many for me to be an expert on. Would you like to sample one?”, reply the kinder ones.

After sampling your fifth or sixth you start feeling confused and quite tipsy.

I propose that craft beers come with warning labels like : “taste just like a lager”, “gives ale a bad name”, “you will hop”, “like an Austrian Kangaroo”, “there are no Kangaroos in Austria my dear” and so on and on.

So back to where I started, today we label everything “craft” or “crafted”.

There are craft soups —what happened to homemade soups?

There are craft salads—what happened to house salads and Caesar salads?

There are craft meatloafs, what happened to plain meatloaf glazed with ketchup. I love ketchup.

Craft and crafty are fine but let’s not forget the concepts of: good old fashioned, down home, made from the heart and homemade—or is this really the point that the term “craft” is trying to make?

#jtjobservations

Part I – Conditioning

From The Business Travel Log

Part I – Conditioning

The large, gray, four-legged creature darted out of the shadows into the wash of the street light. Fortunately I was obeying the 15 mile per hour speed limit at my apartment complex. Deer love to walk through my complex at all hours of the night.

I take it easy on the main road. More deer may be roaming. At 4:30AM I can count on one hand the number of cars traveling down Mill Plain Road. The highways will be different.

Interstate 84 runs right through Danbury. It’s congested. It connects travelers to Highway 684. Highway 684 runs between Brewster, New York and White Plains, New York. It’s congested. The Hutchinson Parkway, often referred to as ‘The Hutch’, runs through Westchester County . It’s congested and it’s barely 5:00AM.

“It must be a lot of fun traveling like you do.”

“I wish I had a travel job like yours.”

I think about comments like these when I am competing with cars and trucks while speeding down the highway in dark predawn hours. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy traveling but I am conditioned to the hardship of road travel. Fatigue and weariness sets in at week two of continuous business travel. You wake up and your mind says I’m tired of this yet because you are conditioned, you find yourself getting dressed (after bathing of course) grabbing your luggage and heading to the airport.

Blinking lights of white and blue mounted upon the high cables of the Whitestone Bridge signal our exit from the Bronx into Flushing Queens. Off in the distance more lights outline the shape of the Throgs Neck Bridge. My weariness changes to exhilaration. My exhaustion turns into adrenaline. Conditioning and experience kick in.

#travellogforatravelblog

jerryjohnsonblog jtjohnpoet.com

Prologue – Up and Out

From The Business Travel Log

Prologue – Up and Out

All the lights in the house were out except one: the light streaming from the 32 inch flatscreen television that sat on top of the tall wide dresser.

One of the many crime investigative shows that crowd today’s broadcast airways was playing. It was 3:00AM. My eyes popped wide open again just as they did at 1:00AM and again at 2:00AM. My alarm was set to go off at 3:30AM. At this point I said forget it, flung the bed covers off my body and sat up on the edge of the bed.

Forty-five minutes later I was showered, dressed, drinking coffee and zipping up my carry-on luggage. It was 26 degrees Fahrenheit in Danbury, Connecticut. White smoke rose from the exhaust of my rental car as it warmed up. Most times It’s cheaper to rent a car at a corporate rate and drop it off at the airport than it is to park your own.

With my luggage snuggly packed in the back of the car I backed out, put the car in drive and was on my way.

Welcome to my post from my business travel log. There will be more to come. I hope you enjoy it. Stay tuned

#jerryjohnsonblog jtjohnpoet.com

My Writing Projects

My Writing Projects

Part I – My First Poetry Submission

I started writing for public consumption in the summer of 1992. I submitted my first set of poems to Catalyst Magazine at the end of August and at the end of September I received an acceptance letter for one of the poems (title: “I Be A Bad Dude”).

Receiving an acceptance letter on my very first poetry submission was a fabulous experience for me. I was high on cloud nine and was ready to write some more. I received a small grant for writing from my home state of South Carolina and I was sure that I was on my way to a big writing career.

However…

Things changed at the day job. I worked in computer operations at a regional head office of a Fortune 500 company. I ran batch jobs, backups, restores, downloaded and uploaded data to hundreds of machines, ran tons of reports and troubleshot problems.

Writing was just one of my part time jobs. “Wait, you had a full time job, wrote part time and had another part time gig also?”, you say. Yes. In addition to the day job and writing I also worked in a microfiche production shop on weekends. My calendar was full.

As I said before, things changed at the day job. A Corporate I/T Manager from corporate headquarters visited my site one week. He checked out how efficient I was in meeting my production quotas but he also checked out my writing.

“What’s that laying on the table over there?”, he asked.

End of Part I – stay tuned for Part II – What Was That Laying On the Table?

#jerrytjohnsonpoet_writingprojects

in its entirety

Charlotte to New York

Prologue

The sun, just risen, hovers just above the horizon. It beams. Its glow is a stunning gold which commands the darkness to leave us be as we start our day.

Black, sleek headphones cover my ears. Stanley is playing bass, “Lopsy Lu”—the recorded version. I pat my feet as I type on my phone with my thumbs.

I’m on a train traveling from Charlotte, North Carolina to New York City. We left the station five minutes ago and now we sit still as we wait for the freight train to pass us by. Down south freight trains have the right of way.

Once we start moving again, we will have 14 hours of riding ahead of us. I plan to to share a few moments of this ride with you on this blog. So, stay tuned and hopefully, enjoy.

Part II – Highpoint, North Carolina

I must be careful. This egg, sausage and cheese muffin is fresh out of the microwave oven hot! My train, The Carolinian, has a dining car!

The Carolinian runs from New York Penn Station to Charlotte, North Carolina and vice versa. It is a day train, both ways, therefore you get to see many sights along the way.

We just stopped in High Point, North Carolina. High Point is known for making furniture. Sometimes it is referred to as the “Home Furnishings Capital of the World”. (Wikipedia)

My headphones are still on. Bono is singing “A Beautiful Day” and it is a beautiful day. The sun is spreading light across a cloudless sky. There is a haziness filtering the sunshine but that is of no consequence; the sun is in charge of this day.

My train moves down the track, Bono croons away, my sandwich is cooled off and Bon Appétit to me!

Part III – Selma, North Carolina

The voice of the conductor booms over our train’s intercom:

“Attention passengers! This is a sold out train. Please remove all bags, coats, hats and luggage from the empty seat next to you so that passengers coming onboard can have a seat. I repeat this is a sold out train, this is a sold out train!”

We are in Selma, North Carolina, population less than seven thousand, which hosts the annual “Selma Railroad Day” festival. The festival celebrates the railroad heritage of Selma. Festival activities include parades, music, vendors and plenty of food.

Though as a young man I had negative experiences with the Klan in a few of the towns near to Selma, I focus on the positive about this place. The red caboose that sits outside of the train station adds a little artistry to the place.

By the way, the seat next to me is totally empty. My luggage is stowed in the overhead. A little elderly lady approaches.

“Is that seat free?”, she asks.

I reply, “Yes, it is. Can I help you with your bags?”

“Thank you, would you?”

“My pleasure.”

All bags stowed, both of us seated, she asks: “Where are you traveling to?”

“New York; and you?”

“Baltimore”, she replies…and a warm conversation begins.

Part IV – Richmond, Virginia

“On to Richmond…” was the slogan printed on the New York Tribune front page by an impatient Horace Greeley in the early days of the civil war. Well right now we are approaching Richmond and we are not in the least impatient. We are enjoying the ride.

Listening to Eric Burden sing “Get Down” as we roll into the station. Entire families board. It is Thanksgiving week in the U.S. Mother’s are dragging reluctant sons, reluctant daughters and reluctant husbands down the aisle trying to find spots where they can sit together. Kids on school break carrying luggage, lunch and laundry follow close behind.

“It is Make a Friend the Train Day”, shouts the conductor over the intercom, “Move those bags off the seats and make room for oncoming passengers”.

Eric and the band sings “Ohhh Yeah , Yeah”

“All aboard”, sings the conductor and onward to our next stop we go.

Part V – Quantico, Virginia

Quantico Creek looks so silent and so serious. Just like the bureau grads right around the corner, it seems to stand still in the sunlight wearing sunglasses and a conservative, gray wool suit.

I hit the repeat button on my music playlist, Eric Burden again, oh yeah, oh yeah. Washington D.C. isn’t very far away now. I’m in the dining car.

“Sorry about making you work on a Sunday, Frank” said the lady with the gold rimmed glasses. She was seated right next to the service counter yapping away.

“I think the disaster recovery test was a disaster Frank. We need to pull everybody into a meeting tomorrow and do a post mortem on this.”

She stopped to inhale.

“I don’t care if it is Thanksgiving week. All hands on deck, Frank.”

I think to myself, Poor Frank.

I move my eyes to the service counter of the dining car. The dining car manager is taking the credit card of a patron.

“That will be ten dollars and fifty cents sir”, she said as she removed the cheeseburger from the microwave and plopped it in the cardboard carry tray.

After she slid the can of beer into the beverage slot, she turned to the register, swiped the man’s credit card, turned back, laid the receipt on the counter and gave the man a pen.

“Sign please”, she said, smiling.

My attention turns to a young lady holding her baby in her arms in front of her as she bounces up and down in a little dance.

She sings:

“When ya happy and ya know it, clap your hands, when ya happy and ya know it clap your hands”.

The little baby moves his hand a little, moves his little head around, lets out a little giggle and smiles.

Eric Burden and the band sings, “Ohhh Yeah, Yeah. Eric and the band sings, Ohh Yeah, Ohh Yeah.

Part VI – Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Philly again.

I wrote a poem titled “Train” once while seated on a train in Philly. It was accepted for publication a week later. Therefore, I have an affinity with Philly.

On that day I was only traveling from New York to Washington DC. I listened to Miles that day. Today is different because it is a much longer ride, Charlotte to New York.

Today I started with Stanley’s “Lopsy Lu” at sunrise, continuously looped with “Get Down” by Eric during the day. Now that the sun has gone down I’m staying with Eric and listening to “Slipping into Darkness”.

I’m still in the dining car. I peep at a young man ordering a soda and chips. He’s wearing 3 different watches on his right arm.

The dining car manager asks, “which of these is a designer watch?”

“The middle one”, replies the young man, “the one with the red face and gold hands. They match my kicks”.

He stood at about five feet tall and he was dressed in a sleek, satin, black gym suit. He wore red high top sneakers with gold colored shoelaces.

Indeed the middle watch was red and gold matching his kicks. The other two watches he wore were of a mere silver bracelet and leather band respectively.

“Young man, you look like you gots lots of time on your hand”, said the conductor to the young man as she walked through the dining car, “Hi Mary”, she greeted the dining car manager.

Hack, choke and wheeze went the guy who was trying to drink his beer. He just happened to be within earshot of the conductor when she made her comment.

“You alright?” asked the dining car manager.

“Yeah, she caught me off guard” said the man readjusting his baseball cap. Laughter from everyone, including the young man, ensued.

“That was a good one”, I added, “glad I wasn’t mid-sip when you said that.”

The friendly laughter continued as our train pulled into 30th Street Station.

Epilogue

Last call for food and drink in the dining car was made in Trenton, New Jersey. A few of us are well past 12 hours of train riding. I’m still in the dining car. I’m still typing with my thumbs. The ear buds replaced my over-the-ear headphones. The battery ran out. They’re still charging. My battery for writing is running out as well.

There are still a few people left in the dining car, all typing on something. Some typing on smartphones like me and some typing on laptops. It’s peaceful, quiet and the space is half empty, giving us typists plenty elbow room to type whatever we want to type.

I wonder what the others are typing about. I know, none of my business. Just curious. I know, curiosity kills cats, no matter how cool they think they are. Okay, I will leave it alone. In any case, this is a nice way to end today’s trip.

We have left Newark, Jersey and soon we will pass the meadowlands. It will be too dark to see them tonight. I can imagine them.

I keep listening to “Get Down. The live version, “Ohh Yeah, Yeah.” Soon I will be staring at the Empire State Building as I make my way on foot from Penn Station to Grand Central. I’ll just go straight up 34th, turn left at Park. My bags are light and the entire trip is just a one mile journey.

Because I read and blogged the entire trip, the ride seemed much less than 14 hours. I enjoyed it all. Oh yeah, I enjoyed it all. Oh Yeah, Oh Yeah, Ohh Yeah.

#jerrytjohnsonblog jtjohnpoet.com

Charlotte to New York – Epilogue

Charlotte to New York – Epilogue

Last call for food and drink in the dining car was made in Trenton, New Jersey. A few of us are well past 12 hours of train riding. I’m still in the dining car. I’m still typing with my thumbs. The EarPods replaced my over the ear headphones. My battery ran out. They’re still charging. My battery for writing is running out as well. There are still a few people left in the dining car, all typing on something. Some typing on smartphones like me. Some typing on laptops. It’s peaceful, quiet and the space is half empty giving us typists plenty elbow room to type whatever we want to type.

I wonder what the others are typing about. I know, none of my business. Just curious. I know, curiosity kills cats, no matter how cool they think they are. Okay, I will leave it alone. In any case, this is a nice way to end today’s trip. We have left Newark, Jersey and soon we will pass the meadowlands. It will be too dark to see them tonight. I can imagine them.

I keep listening to “Get Down. The live version, Ohh Yeah, Yeah. Soon I will be staring at the Empire State Building as I make my way from Penn Station to Grand Central. I’ll just go straight up 34th, turn left at Park. My bags are light and the entire trip is just a one mile journey. Because I read and blogged the entire trip, the ride seemed much less than 14 hours. I enjoyed it all. Ohh Yeah. Ohh Yeah. Ohh Yeah. Ohh Yeah.