As I type I should be on a plane to New York, but I am still in San Francisco where I bring you the tale of my narrow escape from the clutches of “Noro”....
Wednesday, I returned to my hotel room after dinner with coworkers and spent the rest of the night wondering if and why I had been singled out for punishment. Was it the quarter-pounder cheeseburger at lunch? The giant chocolate cookie that followed after? The pot stickers, breaded calamari, chicken satay, pad thai, beef curry, shrimp something-or-another, the Thai iced tea and the sticky rice pudding at dinner?
Yes, charge me with gluttony, but the penalty—only two hours of sleep and the rest of the night shackled to the sink AND the toilet bowl—was a bit much. I spent my waking hours penitent, loudly renouncing all forms of food and drink, which was an easy enough task since the thought of anything edible, the sight of food on television, turned my stomach.
Thursday, bolstered by four doses of Pepto Bismol that earlier I had paid a hotel bellman to help me buy at a pharmacy, I crawled out of bed mid-afternoon and dragged what was left of me to the conference, where I arrived to find that more than half the writing staff had called out sick. Ah, my treacherous gut may not be at fault after all.... I half-heartedly tapped away at my keyboard for about an hour before crawling into a conference shuttle bus back to the hotel to continue my involuntary no-food-barely-any-liquid diet.
Friday, vindication arrived via email in the morning—a notice from the San Francisco Department of Health. While I may have indeed consumed more than my mouth/stomach could handle that Wednesday evening, the culprit responsible for my gastrointestinal misery was a Norovirus outbreak at the conference. Read about it here.
Though I was feeling 50% less miserable today, the only way I was prepared to get on a plane was with a gallon of the pink stuff, a pack of adult diapers, multiple changes of underwear, and an aisle seat a feet away from a toilet. I may have barely had a thing to eat in over 24 hours but my body was still going full-speed with cleaning house.
So I called the powers that be—hotel, airline, my boss—and extended my stay in SanFran by one more day.
The upside from all of this—I'm probably two or three pounds lighter.
The downside—I am very, very hungry but too scared to eat....
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My publicity blitz continues.
Yesterday at the conference, I taped a video interview with one of our team's engineers. The topic? Tech stuff that I doubt this blog's readers will be interested in. A good experience. Though I was nervous about it I had done my research, and I think the end result looked, sounded pretty natural. The finished product won't be ready for another week or so.
But that's not the video I want to focus on.
I've spent a good chunk of my time at the conference in the writers' room. They're a funny and unpretentious bunch. Which is why when someone requested a dance partner for the “Electric Slide” I volunteered without a second thought.
The hazards of a camera phone and this thing called YouTube....
Watch here....
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BlackGirl is an unexpected public figure at this year's company's conference.
Sunday afternoon, I dropped by the convention center to get my registration materials. Halfway across the pavillion floor I stopped dead in my tracks.
What the...?!
There, on the exterior wall of the makeshift conference bookstore, was an image of yours truly.
When..., where..., who..., how...?
Last year's conference.
Checking my email at a computer terminal.
Beats me.
With a damn good camera because I didn't see 'em take the picture.
Getting over my initial shock I started to laugh. Would anyone else notice?
Silly question. Fast forward to Monday.
“Did you see yourself on the wall?!”
“You're famous.”
“You're the conference model.”
“Hey, you're the (product name) girl!”
“Are you getting an agent? Hahaha.”
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There's been a change of venue. For most of May I'll be blogging from America. That's right—I'm home! Well, almost....
I'm currently in San Francisco where I landed last Tuesday for a work conference that's starting tomorrow. I spent the first days at my company's headquarters outside of the city meeting and greeting coworkers who I normally interact with over email.
And naturally, the jet lag kicked my ass all week. Every night I am knocked out by 8pm.
Is it different to be back on American soil? At the airport, I had custom officers, after noting that I lived in Czech Republic, say to me, “Welcome back home”.
Do you imagine that the grouches at Ruzyne Airport will ever say to anyone returning to Prague, “Thanks for coming back”?
When I made the same trip last year, the first few days walking around San Francisco left me disoriented and irritated. After almost eight months in Prague getting used to not understanding what was going around me—becoming in a way mute and deaf and beginning to like it—getting those senses back without much warning and comprehending everything felt like an assault. I hated it. I wanted to return to my bubble. I missed Prague.
This year seems different. Very little angst about returning. Maybe because I'm giving myself little doses of America—a tinnny amount of TV; a minimal glance at the newspapers; leisurely wandering the aisles of Whole Foods; taking in a serene open-air spring concert; one slow and yummy breakfast of French toast, eggs, hash browns, sausage, bacon, orange juice; and mostly sleeping or cocooned in my very comfortable hotel room. I'm basically avoiding noise, rapid movement, and limiting the amount of time I spend around people.
Prague has turned me into a turtle.
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