How I Got Out Of My Business Trip

Muahaha...it was so glorious. Although I would like to humbly apologize to my Twitter followers for the giant Business Trip Live-Tweet '09 cocktease. Sorry about it. Technically, I feel 30% sorry about it and a more overwhelming 70% really impressed with myself. Allow me to explain.

So, I really was planning on sucking it up and going to the convention. I'm trying to be a less of a...well...how do I say this?...a shitty person these days and was willing to accept the fact that part of being a mature adult is sometimes doing things you don't want to do. As of 4 o'clock the day before, all family members were alive and kickin' and I was swine flu/stomach flu/head cold/migraine/bad cramps/oops-I-just-tripped-on-an-extension-cord-and-twisted-my-ankle-which-now-needs-to-be-elevated-so-shucks!-guess-I-can't-go! free. But then old Boss #1 called to ask me a few "favors." And each "favor" drastically decreased the likelihood of me going and drastically increased the probability of someone close to me spontaneously combusting in the next hour.

First and foremost, B#1 asked me if I would come early the next morning (early being 7:00am) and bring two tables from the studio to the convention. What I wanted to say back to this request was, "Madam, I can barely duck and roll out of bed and make it two stops down the red line at 9 o'clock in the morning. What in the name of Christ's brown eyes makes you think I am physically capable of being in Baltimore at 7 am?!" Instead, ever the responsible adult, I said yes. I did, however, express some concern about whether or not I would be able to fit the tables in my convertible without ripping the top. "Well, obviously just drive up with the top down," B#1 said. Oh, right! Obviously. Because obviously the smart thing to do is to truck down I-95 at 6 o'clock in the morning in my Barbie Dream-Mobile with the top down in 40-degree October weather and two giant tables sticking out of the back. Obviously. But again, I sucked it up and said yes.

"I forgot to tell you," B#1 said, "We have a meeting at noon on Thursday and a cocktail party at 6, so we're going to need to leave the convention early." Hm. "Are these events things that I need to plan?" I asked. "Oh yea. Sorry, guess I probably should have told you earlier." Normally this would have pissed me off, but hearing this was music to my hears for the following reasons: 1.) This was the most advanced warning I've ever been given for an event, ever. 2.) Leaving early? Yes please and 3.) This would be a fantastic excuse to hide in a stairwell and make calls/play Bejeweled on my iphone for 8 hours.

"By the way," B#1 added, "the President of our parent company is coming, so it's really, really important that we're all on our best behavior. Please wear a pants suite, cover your tattoos and I'm going to need you to have a big old smile plastered on your face all day." And with that, I broke. That's when I knew I had to find a way to gracefully bow out. For I had been asked The Holy Trinity of things I would rather be reincarnated into a pair of jean shorts than do. It was official: I had to get out of this...but how?

"To tell you the truth, I'm a little stressed out about our meeting on Thursday," B#1 continued. "It would be a huge account to win and I just want to make sure everything is perfect." And there it was. My Out. Sitting on a silver platter, glistening in the sunlight, just waiting for me to grab it. And I lunged for that Out like it was the last box of Kashi on planet Earth.

"I gotta ask," I said in a somber tone, "Is it really the best idea for me to go to NeoCon this year? I mean, it just seems like we have two really important events on Thursday and if someone needs to stay back and prepare everything, I'm willing to suck it up and be that person." "Oh Meghan, I couldn't ask you to do that," Boss #1 said. "UH, YES YOU CAN!!1" I said, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "Look, we're a team and if you feel unprepared, then I feel unprepared. And you know me, I'm never unprepared." (If you look up "shit-eating grin" in the dictionary, you will see a picture of me, having just said that sentence.) "You're right," Boss #1 said, "But how are we going to get the tables up to Baltimore?" "I mean, we have a courier service for a reason. I'll call them right now and arrange everything," I said. "Fantastic idea!" B#1 said. "Well, it's why you pay me the big bucks, am I right? LOLZYHAHAHAHAH!" "Please, we should really be paying you more. I need to talk to Boss #2 about giving you a raise." (I would have pressed that point, but I didn't want to get greedy.) "Look, we've got bigger fish to fry right now. I'm going to call the couriers and get started on these events. You just concentrate on NeoCon and call me if you need anything." "I really appreciate all of your help, Meghan," B#1 said. "Hey. Don't thank me—I'm just doing my job. Now you have yourself a great evening." CLICK.

After hanging up, I exclaimed (out loud) (and to myself,) "I AM AWESOME!" and proceeded to call my mother to tell her what just happened. The next day I came into work an hour late in jeans and leisurely planned Thursday night's Super Sexy Sushi cocktail party. Which was a raging success and scored me a shit-ton of points in our regional VP! So basically I won like 16 times in a row. Which is oddly out of character and makes me incredibly nervous, as I am not the kind of gal who wins. At all. I'm the kind of gal who loses. Hardcore. And then trips over something and falls on her face. And somehow loses her pants in the equation. And after recovering gets hit in the pantsless groin. And then writes about it on an anonymous blog to make herself feel better. That's really more how I roll. But a girl could get used to this whole "winning" thing...