A Style Consultant is Born

Last week I officially started my new flex-time position as an independent style consultant.  Ideally the job is supposed to allow me to do all of the things I need to do at home AND make some extra income to support my kids’ activities, or maybe some of my activities (translation: botox, restylane, and sculptra).  My journey began with product and sales training in Dallas Texas!  I haven’t traveled in a while, or at least not in the early morning while simultaneously trying to take care of everything else in my life.  At 11:30 last night I felt confident about my morning departure, my checklist looked tidy. 

• House Clean
• Grocery Shopping one
• Lunches 80% complete
• Kids' homework ready to turn in
• Laundry - washed, folded and returned to its usual place of residence
• Boarding pass printed
• Mail retrieved and categorized by action needed
• Bills Paid
• Training documents printed and reviewed
• Emails answered
• Measuring appointments set
• Kids' schedules finalized and communicated to care giver
• Corresponding rides and babysitting arranged

This only took me 17 hours to finalize the previous day, thus leaving me in a state of exhaustion before I even started my new endeavor. 

I woke at 5:45 for an 8:30 flight, which should have been plenty of time to wrap up the remaining 20% of items that I needed to do.  But it was not.  While opening the soup can to make kids’ lunch entrees, I watch in slow motion as the top flips off and bright orange lentil soup flies everywhere, including the front of the white jacket which I plan to wear for the next three days.  I attempt a Lady McBeth on the stain (out damned spot, out I say!) and it fades to a dull yellow.  I add a scarf to my ensemble to disguise the mishap.  

I gulp down 3 bites of oatmeal and rush out the door 15 minutes late.  My last glimpse as I pull out is my daughter’s sad face in the window, gravely waving goodbye as if I were heading to Mars for an extended space exploration trip.  “It’s OK, honey I’m just going to learn how to measure men for luxury Italian clothing at affordable prices so I can pay for your ski school, I will return shortly!” I mouth, but she doesn’t understand.  Even though I have been home with her since birth (with various stints of employment that she doesn’t remember) and I’m going to train for a job that will help pay our bills, I feel a pang of guilt.  It’s just a pang, let’s move on.

For 30 minutes, I’m happy listening to Howard on my way to the airport.  I get a decent spot in long-term parking and record “section 18B stop 3” in my iphone because my short term memory is verging on the Lilliputian.  The security line is longer than I expected, and there is only 25 minutes until my flight takes off.  As I am stumbling to replace my boots (and hide the socks that don’t match my outfit) I see a somber security guard carrying my blue shimmery faux lizard skin purse (a fashion don’t if I ever saw one).  I immediately start to worry about a possible lip-gloss infraction.

“Do you have anything sharp in your bag?” He questions with the grave manner of an abu ghraib guard.  

I can’t think of anything possibly sharp in there, but it is a large handbag and I did take it to the ski race last weekend.  He pulls out my trusty Swiss army knife.  My main reason for carrying such an item is for its deft capabilities at opening a variety of alcoholic beverages.   Shit.  $30 down the drain, and no portable opener.  He offers the charitable option of allowing me to return it to my car, but I only have 20 minutes until my flight now and I decline.  I briefly lament that if it were a $30 lip-gloss, I probably would have chosen to miss my flight and put the offending make up back in my vehicle.  I picture my husband shaking his head at me and calling me a “rookie flier”.  He is right.

My flight is not in the usual Delta area so I hoof it over to terminal B along the moving walkway.  Along the way I am astounded by the number of “fashion don’ts” that I encounter.  My favorite is the woman in the faux leopard skin coat, with a different sort of faux leopard print bag (this would be a deux faux pas).  Topped off with the pumpkin tinted hairdo that is spiked all over the back to give the appearance of volume.  Yikes.  Perhaps my impending new title of style consultant has made me more keenly aware of these style infractions. 

I finally arrive at my gate, which is at least a half-mile from my point of origin.  The other plane is still de-planing so I head over to Starbucks (for lack of a better option) for a small decaf coffee.  The line is very long, but I persevere.  I need that goddamn decaf!  I spot a well-dressed man and briefly entertain the idea of giving him my style consultant business card that is hot off the presses.  I chicken out.  After ordering, I wait as 10 drinks that are way more complicated than mine make it to the drink pick-up zone.  After a hasty inquiry they pour the decaf and I am on my way.  As I rush back to the boarding line and head onto the plane, I spill coffee on my sleeve.  Note to self: don’t wear white when traveling. In my flurry, I forgot to get my pink luggage tag.  I back track to the gate to get my ticket.  By this time, there is no room for my bag in the “luggage convenience shelving”.  I put down my purse and my hard earned coffee to stuff my suitcase onto the device, which allows me to work up a good sweat in my linen blazer.    I look over to see a man in a suit bent over picking up my coffee which has been knocked over by my blue purse and is pouring all over the floor.

“Thanks so much, it has been a really shitty morning” I say as I try to retrieve my things.  As he gets up, I can see that my first impression was incorrect; it is not a man in a suit, but rather a teenage Mormon missionary, trying to look like a man in a suit with his Elder XYZ tag proudly displayed on his lapel.  This poor soul, on a mission from God to convert the fine people of Dallas (good luck with that one, buddy – there is enough religion down there already) to Mormonism, has now been offended while trying to do a good deed.  In fact he has been offended twice 1. By me taking the word for feces in vain and 2. By the mere presence of my Starbucks delivered straight from Satan.  I’m actually surprised he attempted to save my evil coffee to begin with – maybe his divine knowledge allowed him to discern that my coffee was not filled with that heinous substance known as caffeine thereby making it safe in the eyes of the Lord.  At first I feel badly that I have been so thoughtless with my remark and my consumption, but this feeling is quickly replaced by the dread that he and his entourage might be sitting next to me on the plane and spend the next 2.5 hours trying to convince me that Joseph Smith really did find those plates, and if I’m not busy, perhaps I should consider being his 3^rd wife.

As luck would have it, I am free to ponder my heathen existence on my own for the remainder of the flight.  Training goes fairly well.   Even though I have left Utah, religion is prominent in our training discussion.  At first I begin to write down every reference that I hear regarding our Holy Father (It was God’s plan that I embarked on this career, By the Grace of God I was able to be successful) but I pull myself together and focus on the finery's of Italian clothing, and how to achieve just the right fit.  I probably could have learned everything I need to know via a video conference, but I will play the game as I was trained to do so long ago.  I leave the hotel armed with a hefty book of fabric samples, a few pages of notes, and the tools of my new trade – a measuring tape and custom designed measuring belt. 

On my return flight, all of my reading material is on my Ipad, which I can no longer use during take-off and landing.  I choose to peruse the Sky Mall and I start with the last page first as is my customary approach to any magazine read. 

There is some weird shit in the back of the sky mall. 

I will provide a few examples:

Lamp Lady – this thing is $495!!  Can you imagine this in your living room?  Doesn’t this represent some sort of drinking joke?

Urinating Brussels Boy – Having lived in Brussels, I feel so fortunate to have seen this stunning work of art in person.  People travel for thousands of miles to view this cute statue, and now you can purchase it for your very own back (or front?) yard!

A word to the wise: just because a fake plastic tree adorns the top of the litter box does not make it invisible to your guests, you are still going to smell the feline elimination. However, they recommend you buy two!

Finally, want to try out a beard with your girlfriend but don’t have the patience to grow one?  The bearded cap is the best way to end any relationship.

Thankfully we have reached cruising altitude and I can continue reading my ibook.  I was getting a little freaked out about who might actually purchase some of these items.  

An hour into my flight, my seatmate initiates conversation.  After we exchange our assorted reasons for travel, he actually asks for my business card!  He thinks selling men’s clothing in Utah is a great idea!  Alas, a saleswoman is born and I am on my way.  But no journey to/from Utah would be complete without re-entry to the airport where you are faced with throngs of family members that are not yours, carrying balloons and signs that say “Welcome Home Elder XYZ”.  I’m not sure how their mission went, but mine is complete.  I have been converted to an Independent Style Consultant.