April 28, 2009

Vegas Taxi Price Guide

Posted in life, travel at 3:31 pm by Michael

I’m in Vegas this week for the Microsoft Management Summit – our yearly IT confab related to the stuff that I work on day-to-day.

You learn so much at conferences – about customers, your competitors – but this year, I learned something in an area I wasn’t expecting – how much it costs to puke in a cab.

Now STOP! I’m better than that, I did not in fact puke in a cab. However, we did hear firsthand from an expert – our cabbie last night – about the suggested price schedule. Nancy from Western Cab was full of fun facts.

She was complaining about a group of drunken girls she picked up the night before – with one of them having set their alimentary canal in “two way” mode as opposed to the more normative and societally acceptable “one way” mode.

“She wanted change. Up the strip, and wanted change for a $20. Unbelievable!”.

The fare was about $10 – so, we established that the cleanup fee should have been $10.

However, she didn’t puke “in” the cab – but on the door.

What about inside, what’s appropriate for that?

Nancy says that depending on the degree of offense, the fee for that is between $50 and $100.

When Anh and I were in Paris at the beginning of April, in the cab from the airport downtown, Samwich lost it in the cab. He had had some suspect milk, the traffic was stop and go, and the diesel fumes were bad, and he didn’t make it. Most of the damage hit both him and me, but some hit the seat. We cleaned it all up with wipes, but I still gave the driver $50.

I told Nancy this story, and she said:

“You are such a bullshitter.”

“Who, me?”

“Yes, you.”

From the backseat – “No, that’s Joe Biden”

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March 27, 2009

Oh, The Humans

Posted in life, travel at 1:43 pm by Michael

I love traveling. I love observing the differences, the similarities, and everything in-between.

For the last week I’ve been working in our Microsoft office in Israel. One cool thing is that our badges work everywhere. It’s kind of odd to walk up to a building eight thousand miles away from home, swipe your badge: “Boop – Green Light”.

(On the subject of badges, here’s a story that I’ve heard about an old-school Microsoft manager. When told that they didn’t give enough positive feedback, they replied:

“Positive feedback? Positive feedback? I give you positive feedback every morning. Every morning, when you walk up to the door and swipe your badge, you get the green light. Isn’t that positive feedback enough?”)

I digress.

Israel is an interesting place. Service comes from a totally different frame. The customer is *absolutely* not always right.

The first night after arriving, we were looking for a place to eat. We went down to the concierge to ask for a recommendation. He asked what we’d like to eat – we told him “Meat, Hummous, Kebabs, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, you want to go to Benny the Fisherman – very good. They have meat too.”

We go to “Benny the Fisherman” – known for the finest of meats in all of Tel Aviv.

We walk in, sit down, and the waitress walks over after a bit.

“So, what do you want to eat?”

(Israel, even though it is an English speaking country, is fiercely, loyally, a country of Hebrew speakers. It is not uncommon for signs and menus to be only in Hebrew. This restaurant did not have English menus – this was the reason for the question.)

Thinking that we were going to a place featuring meat (oddly named after a fisherman), we said:

“Well, meat, kebabs, salad?”

“Eh? What, no fish? You come here, you don’t want fish?”

Eyeroll. Dismissive hand wave.

“We have fish. You want fish, I will bring it.”

Me: “Can I have some meat too?”

“After the fish. I will bring it. You will see. You will like it.”

What, is Sam I Am our server?

We were given meat after two fish courses, begrudgingly.

“The fish was good, no?”

I’m not sure they liked me.

It added insult to injury that as we were there, it started to pour. Biblically. (It is the land of the Bible after all). On the way out the door, while trying to run for the door, I planted my left foot, starting to run, and it slipped out from underneath me, dumping me unceremoniously on my meat-eating ass.

I’ll eat the fish next time, I promise.

While there, our local team had scheduled a team event which included a walking tour of Old Tel Aviv. We got to hear about how Tel Aviv came to be, built by five original families from the sand outside of Jaffa. Interesting…

There were less interesting bits. It turned out that a highlight of the trip was the stop in front of the tourguide’s childhood apartment house.

For fifteen minutes we got to hear about all of the neighbors, where they came from, where they are now. All the time, I was wondering, what the point was – who famous was there? How had this house played into the founding of Old Tel Aviv?

Not in the slightest. Really.

We did hear about the elderly neighbor from across the street. Her house was described as an exact replica of her childhood home in Poland, but with the addition of a Star of David over the door.  Invited over for Easter, she ignored the advice where to sit, and sat in the seat in front of the bowl of very hot horseradish. After sitting down, she asked what this dish was exactly, and was told it was very hot horseradish, and that it should only be eaten sparingly, and later with the main course. She blissfully ignored the advice, got a big spoonful, and took it in whole.

Her face was said to explode in a cataclysm of gagging and spitting. The party’s attempts at reviving her with water and matzo were not enough. The neighbor did not speak to them for five months. (Not four, not six – five. Seven would have been more locally appropriate).

Look, I was paying attention to this story. This story was a load of crap.

First off, it’s a Jewish neighborhood. Our tour guide was Jewish – she said as much.

Other problems with story:
– Invited over for Easter. Yes, Easter. Not Passover. Jews do not celebrate Easter. They celebrate Passover.
– Sitting places. Again, this is a Passover thing. See above.
– Horseradish. This is a *staple* of the Seder. I’ve been to two Seder meals in my life and I know this. How the neighbor from across the street did not know about this, given that she too was Jewish (Star of David on the house), is beyond me.
– Matzo. Another proof point of the non-Easterness. Does the Easter Bunny bring Matzo? NO! Unleavened bread… leave the house quickly…. It’s Passover!

Anyway, on our walking tour we stopped at a number of small food places, which was cool. We got to experience the oddly named “Hummous Sticks” – which are like potato sticks made out of dried mashed chickpea and tahini. I need to increment the Crappy Look Counter after going there though, the elderly lady at the front looked me up, down, up, down, and then went “Beah!”. I think I need to rename it the “Crappy Look and Beah! Counter”. We also had some fresh marzipan, which was melt-in-your-mouth yummy. No crappy looks.

Anyway… the actual walk was fun and the commentary while odd, was at least blog-fodder.

Our flight out was at 10:30pm, and keeping with the tradition of Israeli airport arrival, we planned to get there at about 7pm. (Really, you need to leave that much time). After spending a lovely hour and a half getting through the pre-security, bag security, checkin, passport control, and gate security lines, we were through.

At the airport we had a last Israeli meal of pita, hummous and schwarma at “Cumin”, which was a far better choice than Kosher McDonalds.

Traveling brings out interesting traits in people. I’ve seen some pretty selfless behavior, but also some super wacky behavior too. In my humble experience, elderly travelers can be *the worst*. We were in the passport check line, waiting, when an elderly eastern European woman and her husband got in the adjoining line. (I saw her passport cover). She quickly sidled over to half-cut in front of me. I saw it coming.

As the line moved forward, she inched forward – cutting further into line, while her husband proceeded in the adjoining line. Like no one was noticing.

As the lined moved to its conclusion, with a big kerfuffle, she tapped her husband on the shoulder, and dramatically moved fully in front of me. Look, we had been in this line and others for an hour and a half and I was done.

I tapped her on her shoulder….

“Excuse me. You were in that line with your husband. You cut in front of me. Move back to your line.”

Oh, the Crappy Looks….

Then, a grumble fest from the other line-standers “Yeah… no cutting….”

Shockingly, she complied.

Other line-standers turned around and smiled at me, like I had fought some silent injustice that they themselves had suffered silently.

Thirteen plus flight hours later, we arrived into Atlanta….

It’s fun to travel – love the food – but after that long of a flight, comfort food is needed. I found to my delight that in the Atlanta Airport, in Terminal A is a Dunkin’ Donuts.

“Large iced regular please….”

Welcome home…..

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