More haste, less speed
The plane back from Chicago was late landing. It’s bad enough travelling on one of those red-eye routes – you know, the ones where they turn out the lights at seven in the evening and wake you up for a disgusting breakfast in the middle of the night – without being late in as well. I was supposed to go straight to the office, but I was planning on sneaking a quick wash-and-brush-up at the airport hotel where my mate works, but now there wasn’t even time for that. The monthly drains-up meeting was fast approaching and I didn’t want to be late.
At least I had the orders – all three of them – in my tired, sticky mitts. The Directors would be happy, even if the wife was grumpy that I hadn’t brought her anything. Well, how could I? There wasn’t a moment to breathe. Three days, six meetings and hardly even a moment for the ‘retail experience’ at the airport. I got her some chocolates – that would have to do this time.
I was running. Yes, I know, that’s never wise. Especially not with a wheelie case snapping at your heels and a laptop slung over your shoulder. I practically skidded out into the arrivals hall and I wasn’t really minding where I was going. I was looking for the car park pay machine and wondering where I’d stashed the ticket. I barrelled straight into him.
We actually fell over – both of us. It was all very embarrassing. Although thinking about it, maybe he was running too. We were converging on the ticket machine from different directions, both of us looking the wrong way. He caught his ankle and toppled right over my case. I fell over him as my laptop swung round and it landed right on top of him. I think he even smacked his head on the floor too. If it wasn’t so embarrassing, we might have laughed. He definitely came off worse, so it was my job to apologise. And apologise I did, profusely and abjectly.
Anyway, we dusted ourselves off and I offered to buy him a coffee. I don’t know why, but suddenly it seemed stupid to rush, rush, rush off to the office at that point. Time to be a gentleman, not an idiot. So we popped into the coffee bar and in the time it took to drink a tall latte, I found out he was a man I needed to know. He owned a company called Customs Clearance Limited. It turns out this poor chap with the twisted ankle and the bruised ego could help me import and customs clear our raw materials and dispatch the orders to our new customers in the USA too. There was plenty else he could do for us too, with those problems we’ve been having with our Far Eastern imports.
So, with all the panache, flare and genius of genuine global wheeler-dealers, we managed to turn an awkward collision into a most productive connection. But I’ll still look where I’m going next time I’m scooting through the airport in too much of a hurry.
15th June 2010
