The next big trip

Well, I’m going to India—this is a work trip, and I’ll be gone nearly two weeks this time. I’m picking up some new direct reports and the plan is for twice yearly visits.

I’ve been reading up on everything I can find about doing business in India: manners, business customs and clothing. Everything I’ve read stresses how important it is to dress modestly and the guidelines are spelled out: for example, no shorts. Yoga pants are a huge no-no as are any tight pants (of course what’s popular right now for pants in the US? Skinny pants . . . ). Bare arms are out, as are short skirts or dresses. In fact, below the knee is the skirt or dress length most commonly mentioned in everything I’m reading. Tights won’t solve the length issue either, because they are form fitting. These guidelines pose a bit of a problem for me because India is quite hot and the idea of being covered nearly head to toe makes me sweat just thinking about it. Jeans are OK, but not for me at work (that’s a personal preference to be honest but also I can’t imagine wearing jeans in a Bangalore summer).

While I’m respectful of local customs anywhere I travel, I think it’s especially important when I’m traveling for work. I want my new associates to focus on the information I’m sharing with them, not my hemline or arms or what have you. So I’ve been scouting for clothing that will be acceptable, not overly hot and also not uni-clothing.

Uni-clothing is like a uni-task tool—a garlic press is a uni-tasker, as is a toaster that only lets you put slices of bread it the slots. For clothing, some clothes by design must be and should be uni-taskers too.  Think of bathing suits or wedding dresses—those are uni-clothing and of course you’d expect them to serve just the one purpose. But when I consider how I need to dress in India, what with the coverage and length requirements, I may end up with clothes that fit a specific location and won’t work anywhere else. So it’s a challenge.

Right now I’ve found a pair of linen pants, a flowy, longer top, and I’m examining the rest of my closet. My normal, go-to travel skirts are just above the knee and I suspect I’m going to need to find one tea length skirt that goes with everything—so probably black or charcoal. I have some light sweaters that come to my elbow which will help with the bare arms, and can also be buttoned over my chest.

Work outs will have to be in my room. I didn’t plan on running in Bangalore anyway—I have some reactive airway issues and air pollution is a problem there so running doesn’t seem like a good idea. And since workout clothing is specifically called out as being problematic (too tight, too short, too much skin), it will just be easier to skip the gym and do room work outs.

Have you ever made adjustments like this? I’d love to hear your story.

Words matter

I believe that politics tends to bring out the absolute worst in people, and as my friends know, I really dislike the entire long, drawn-out political process with all the hateful ads and endless, pointless debates.

I didn’t always detest politics. In fact, when George McGovern ran for president, I was pretty active and vocal in my school’s election activities the way only a 12 year old who is trying to become her own person can be. I had gotten a POW/MIA bracelet*, and was fervently anti-war so I supported McGovern 100%. I don’t  remember who my parents supported in that election, but my younger brother was an avid Nixon supporter as were most of the kids at his school and mine (just like their parents, I guess).

That year I attended a junior high school kind of known for violence. We had a lot of race-based fights, enough so that forks and knives had been removed from the school cafeteria so we could only eat with spoons. I saw girls wearing the giant hoop earrings so popular then, the kind that touched your shoulders have those same earrings torn out of their ears during fights. That's one of the reasons I’ve never worn big earrings.

We also had a lot of bomb threats, one or two a month most months. I’m pretty sure those were tied to test days, but the police department and the school had to take them seriously. Clearing the school would always take about an hour so we’d stand outside in the heat or cold and just wait.

The bus ride to and from school was similarly challenging. The bad kids, the ones I feared, always sat in the back of the bus. They’d yell or throw things and generally just act intimidating toward the rest of us, so I made sure I got to the bus line early so I could sit up front.

One day during the election season, I was late boarding the bus and had to sit in the back, smack in the middle of those boys. I kept my head down and hoped they would ignore me, but that wasn’t the case. They started saying mean things about me, about me supporting McGovern, and calling me names. Then they started spitting on me. Yes, spitting on me. The bus driver either didn’t notice or didn’t care and so I sat, getting spit upon for that endless ride home.

I managed to hold in my tears until I got home. I ran in the front door dropping my coat and books as I headed for the bathroom to wash my hair. I remember telling my brother that this was how people who believed the way he did behaved. I don’t remember anything else ever happening as a result of that ride.

That incident didn’t dissuade me from voting. In fact, I’ve voted in every election I’ve been eligible to vote in ever since. But I remain very private about my political beliefs and wish others would too. If you start ranting about your beliefs, I’m likely to just walk away, and I will most definitely ignore everything you're saying.  

*As an aside, my POW was an Air Force officer and I got to see his return on TV. I lost the bracelet when my house was burglarized so I no longer have it, and don't remember his name. 

Kids these days

Yesterday’s flight from Boston to Minneapolis was utterly full. When that happens, overhead bin space is precious and you can see some ugly behavior.

I was in the aisle seat (three across), row 10 and because I fly all the time and have status with Delta, I boarded in Zone 1. Without status, I’d have been boarding in Zone 3 or 4. Zone 1 But boarding in Zone 1 meant I had plenty of overhead space.

As the plane filled I realized people were tripping over a bag sitting in the aisle by the man in front of me who was standing. He was older than I am, maybe even in his 70s and he looked really uncertain as though he were trying to do something. But people kept coming down the aisle and getting hung up over that suitcase.

So I asked him if he needed help putting it into the bin—it looked like there was room across the aisle for it. Imagine my surprise when the man in the window seat ahead of me spoke up and said it was his bag.

Uh what? He said there wasn’t room for it and both the woman next to me and I both said hey you need to put your bag up. No, no he didn’t, it was the flight attendants’ responsibility.

The old guy in front of me did find a spot for it and the young guy (he wasn’t even 30) didn’t even thank him.

To top it off, when we deplaned in Minneapolis, it was clear the old guy was disabled—he walked with a severe limp. I can only imagine that his shoulders were in the same condition as his legs.

As for the young guy, may he always sit in the middle row between two people of very generous size who squeeze the snot out of his self-entitled body. What a jerk.