My initiation into political work occurred when I was twelve. I spent several hours delivering leaflets for the local Liberal Party candidate who contested the parliamentary seat where I grew up, which in those days was reliably Conservative. On election day itself I helped collect voter numbers, cycling between several polling stations where other volunteers were keeping tally of those who had promised to vote for ‘our man’, taking this information back to the local committee room, where the agent’s assistant aggregated the data and identified those among our known supporters who had yet to vote. Other volunteers were dispatched to knock on their doors and remind them to hurry to the polling stations before they closed. The process was rather amateurish compared with the technology-enabled campaigning of the modern day, but it was also courteous and civic-minded. ‘Our man’ knew he wouldn’t win, but he sought to secure as many votes as he could, not least because the higher his tally the greater the pressure on the incumbent Member of Parliament to serve his constituents well.
Logistics
I had the rare pleasure of an approach pattern into O’Hare today from the west. I think something like 90% of approaches into O’Hare come from the east, which usually is a good thing because I tend to fly transcontinental via Chicago east to west, and an eastern approach saves time; west to east, I try to go from one coast to the other because it’s usually a red-eye and you want the longest flight possible in order to get something approaching a normal night’s sleep. East to west, though, it’s probably going to be an end-of-day flight, and all you want is speed and a short layover. That means you’re going to go through Chicago if you’re a United frequent flyer such as myself.
Panic!
I’m heading back east again – same thing we do every other week, Pinky, try to rule the world – and the airport here in Seattle is quiet. No surprise, really; frankly I was more surprised last Thursday when I was on two completely packed flights, Atlanta to Chicago, Chicago to Seattle. I fly enough that normally I get upgraded without a second glance, and the pilot will come out during the flight and thank me for my continuing custom. No chance last week: I had two middle seats and kept them.
Billionaires
In my career, I’ve met more than a few billionaires. Without exception, they have been unpleasant people. I mean in saying that that they are not the type of people that, as one might say, you’d “want to have a beer with” or “play a round of golf”. In fact I played a round of golf with a billionaire – it was a charity event, my company was sponsoring it, and for various reasons it ended up that I was the executive sent out on tour – and he cheated ruthlessly. He had a member of his entourage who giggled a lot whenever he did so, even when I glared at him, and the tournament director who shared my cart just thanked me for putting up with it. Apparently this happened every year.