Sorry about the Mickey Spillane introduction but. . .

It was the night on a particular weekday at a particular time in the Spring of 1993. The kids were... well younger, and I was working about five months out of 12 paying Uncle Sam money that I question he deserves more than me at a job that currently is non-existent, no thanks to Walmart.

My boss who resembled a mini-me-version of Colonel Sanders who happened to be the former national president of the Mental Health Association, always bragged about his children. One particular child we'll call Travel Agent Tina had just graduated college, and was working as a travel professional.

My kids, ages 8, 9 and 14 had never taken a plane ride before, and neither had their well-grounded father. So I figured (busy working mother that I was before I got politely phased out for a friend of a friend in the circle of insiders that exists in every business entity called "The Nepotism Divison") that I'd try to filter through the confusing terms and conditions that everyone on the planet may sometimes encounter...  the FAQ's of how to book your own trip without selling a gallon of blood as a downpayment.

Well, the colonel says his daughter--the one he could never figure out--just joined a brick and mortar travel business. You remember those? They're the agencies nobody can find anymore thanks to word of mouth & the speed of the internet. One used to be next door to my old chiropractor's office. Both building were torn down to make room for a medical clinic which we all know of course perhaps the SECOND biggest industry next to travel.

So now, here we baby boomers are retiring at a rate of 1 every 8 seconds. Somme of us might not be able to go anywhere had it not been for us smuggling  a portion of our kids' video arcade allowance money when they were still at home. (Wait a minute? Some of them actually still live at home.  .  . .!) Oh well, so much for the Pepsi Generation. . . There's always the trip to the carnival in the shopping center parking lot. . . .

C'MON KIDS, WE CAN WATCH OUT-OF-WORK PARENTS PUT ON CLOWN FACES AND MAKE QUARTERS COME OUT OF THEIR EARS SO THEY CAN PUT GASOLINE IN THEIR AUTOMOBILES. Talk about magic tricks. . .

So, there I am in the presence of my old boss wearing his bow tie and grey pinstripe suit, leisurely persuaded to give his daughter a change by allowing her to book a trip for five individuals to Orlando.  .  . and four had never been on a plane.

(At least we didn't have to submit to body cavity searches and stripping down for security without background music to dance to while getting naked for the government.)

Since it was performance review time on the job I agree to call my boss' daughter. And we found out the hard way that Travel Agent Tina never booked a trip on her own before. But this was my boss's daughter. . . how bad could that be?

The answer comes tomorrow. . . I have to give my eyes a rest for now. Meanwhile, share the attached flyer and avoid the nightmare of a lifetime that I'll share before taking my OWN trip I BOOKED myself, thanks to inspiration from Travel Agent Tales of the Weird and Wacky. 

© 2006, cynth’ya lewis reed
All rights reserv’d