employablog

We’re both employed.  Somewhat.  But there has been a lull.  I can’t help but feel that the fact that both of our being out of the country for extended periods of time may have been partially responsible. Neither of us were working at that time, but that’s another story. Another blog for another day for another dollar they say.

What I found out, though, is that quitting, is awesome.

Sure, there are some awkward bits. People say they won’t know what to do without you, which is entirely untrue. They will do the exact same thing they did before I popped into said company. In fact, because I knew how temporary this officeland honeymoon was, I cut a low profile, ducking in and out of the office on the minute, eating lunch at my desk with a spreadsheet open, going to the gym during lunch break.

I was already leaving one life, and since the corporate world has no place for me, and likewise I have no place for it, so leaving two lives seemed reckless and too much. Instead I chose to flit in and out of the work life, honestly checking in between 9 and 10, and checking out each day around six.

But quitting — I would get another job some day just so I could quit it. I don’t think I paid for a lunch during my whole last week. I got more than my share of attention and my modest vacation, Peru for a month to get my head right, surf and learn a language was lauded as independent, incredible and the right thing. Sandwiched between medical school, and I was suddenly congratulated just for doing what I want to do.

People bought me drinks, took me out, asked what I was up to, and cornered me, forcing me to go out for drinks.

My reclusive tendency when stuck in fluorescent cubicles got mistaken for coolness.

I wear my sunglasses at night.

In the midst of a soul-crushing project that continues to grind forward despite a lack of necessary data, I received this in my email today. The fruits of my labor have finally come to fruition! Oh glorious days of harvest! Reap!

Fittingly, I sealed the deal on a red-eye back from Silicon Valley. Unfortunately Elite status does little to blunt the trauma of starting a work day with a 6:30am touchdown at Logan.

Last week’s trip to Dallas was not just a trip to Dallas. It was also the beginning of an epic challenge. And not just any epic challenge. No, this epic challenge has a name — the American Airlines Platinum Elite Challenge. At stake: Platinum Elite status on America’s largest airline. The terms: fly 10,000 miles in three months, and receive an automatic one-year status upgrade (a feat that normally would take a year of sustained devotion: 35,000 miles).

Now, I’m not sure what exactly Platinum Elite status gets you (it’s something about first-class upgrades, security line bypasses and access to those weird lounge things with the frosted glass that I used to walk past without a second glass on my way to Hudson News or the bathroom or whatever). But I’m always up for a challenge, and this is one I think I can win. Last week’s trip to Dallas knocked off 3000 miles, but since we flew first class I got credit for an extra .5 points per mile, bringing the total up to 4500. This week, I am in Tampa, adding another 2000 miles. The week after Thanksgiving the plan is to fly to Southern California, which should pretty well knock the 10,000 mile challenge out of the park, and all in under one month. That’s not even including the trips to Washington, Oregon and Indiana on the horizon.

Add it all up and I become Platinum Elite, a celebrated lifevest for a gasping airline industry.

But what does it all mean (besides the obvious: that this man’s life has a degree of sadness to it that isn’t palpable exactly, but is close enough to the surface that he needs some sort of superficial affirmation that he isn’t throwing it all away waiting in terminals)? I mean, what does platinum even look like? Is it better than diamonds? How come it’s not Diamond Elite? That actually sounds like a cool name for an American Gladiator…

My point is this. In less than three weeks, I am going to be Elite. Platinum Elite.

Ok, that’s not really a point, but it is a fact. And this fact is going to enable me to say non-sentences like “Excuse me Miss, but I’m Platinum Elite…” and have wonderful things lavished upon me. At least I hope. Because otherwise, all this travel sure could get a man down.

The Dallas “Metroplex” is not like any city I’ve seen. The airport is easily the size of Boston itself, and that is just a preview of the spectacle to come. No matter where one drives, a skyline looms somewhere in the distance. At first, I thought it was the same skyline; presumably downtown Dallas. But as my boss and I traveled further and further across the vast swath of Northern Texas over which the city splays, it became clear that every skyline was its own city.

I use the term city loosely, because in fact these consolidated clusters of corporate construction were created prior to the needs of the communities they serve, built across dozens of acres with more of an eye towards the future of the business’ expanding empires than the subtleties of urban design. Like plastic flowers in a dry dusty vase, these skylines sit indifferent to the typically life-sustaining urban features like apartment buildings, taxis, grocery stores and corner delis.

Beginning in the morning, these cities suck in their collective gut and draw to them people from all corners of the Metroplex. At 5pm, Dallas undoes its belt and the people flow back to their homes on impossibly large highways under impossibly stark sunsets. Caught in the ebb and flow are large number of the young analysts in the business and financial services industry, of which I am now a part.

It was in this flow that I discovered the Dallas Rule: on any given weeknight, at least one of my dozen-or-so friends in the consulting and finance industry is in Dallas. The implications are that no matter what you’re working on, every night in Dallas has the potential to be epic.

The catch to this rule is that most of the time you would never even know that your former roommate might be sleeping four rooms down at the Westin, since it’s not like we’re checking in with each other every time we travel. Unless it comes up some other way, you’re never going to find out that they were there when you were.

This week, the stars aligned and one of my best friends from college not only was in Dallas (which, as i have demonstrated, is not actually a large coincidence, given the Dallas Rule), but we also knew of each other’s presence and were able to sneak an extra night in at the tail of our business trips. It was thus that we found ourselves in a Pro Bass Shop, shopping for camouflage hats to wear to the Texas Stampede Rodeo and out in to the streets of the “real” City of Dallas.

Suffice to say, I spent a week in Dallas last night.