Your first Liz Embarrasses Herself story.

So as I mentioned this morning, I had to fly to Chicago for work training...

Those who know me know that for me, work travel is inevitably fraught with complications. There was the infamous "Delta lost my reservation in Fargo so I had to rent a car and drive home" adventure...the 7-hour "Appleton is locked down due to a blizzard' delay, and of course the "I shared a room with a senior manager because O'Hare was shut down due to a tornado" story. Needless to say, I dread traveling for work, because it never. ends. well for me. 

Today, I was super pumped because this was one of the few times I was traveling WITH colleagues who are a: my level and b: who I like. The four of us met up at the airport Chili's (aside: who doesn't love airport Chili's? I feel like they're ubiquitous and awesome and awful and all of the above, just because they are airport Chili's)...and we pounded some margaritas, and chowed on some quesadillas, and then had some more margaritas. To be honest, we had too many margaritas because all the margaritas were being paid for by our company's generous travel stipend. 

At any rate, after 2.5 margaritas, a mediocre quesadilla, and some serious work venting, my colleagues and I headed to our gate, which was, no joke, about a half a mile away from the Chili's. And when we got to our gate, I took an immediate bathroom break (because 2.5 margaritas goes through one's system pretty quickly). Upon leaving the bathroom, I noticed my beautiful kelly green Kate Spade bag was mysteriously missing. Guys and gals, I flipped shit. I immediately barged back into the bathroom, banged on the stall door, and of course, purse isn't there. Might I add, our flight was scheduled to be boarding at that very minute. 

Let's fast-forward to the fun part of the story: the part where I legitimately sprint  back to the airport Chili's. I made excessive use of the moving walkways (aka, I knocked over a child [I wish I was kidding] and yelled "EXCUSE ME THANK YOU" over and over again), stumbled a few times, and at one point flipped off an airport tram guy for refusing to take me. Get to the Chili's. No purse. Call my colleagues. Frantic. They say there's no purse at the gate. Start sprinting back to the gate, hoping for a miracle. 

Halfway back, my man-colleague calls me, asking if my purse is green and Kate Spade. I gaaaaasp "YES" (because at this point I've run more in six minutes than I have in about six years)...and my colleague officially calls me an idiot. 

At Chili's, I had the bright idea to stuff my purse in my carry-on roller bag. Because I had excess room. And TSA regulations mandate that you only carry on two items, which would be my rollaway and briefcase. In the margarita-and-venting-induced haze I was in, I apparently managed to forget this critical the ten minutes it took us to walk to our gate.  


Bottom line, team...never fly drunk without doing your due diligence on all potential packing combinations. It will result in unfortunate red-faced flying and some major loss of credibility with your travel-savvy colleagues.  

Can't wait to see what the return flight holds...