Businessmen Cellphones

Businessmen on Cellphones, or The Rage of a Sleepy Traveler

I hate business men. I hate them not for who they are or what they do – I do not care who they are and have absolutely no desire to learn about what they do – but, rather, I hate them for how they sound when talking loudly on their cellular telephones.
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Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
in on train from Rochester, NY to New York City- September 22, 2008
Travelogue — Travel Photos
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They seem to think that their wheeling and dealing impresses the general mass of the population, and perhaps they are correct. But I know that nobody else in airports, trains, or in the streets are as insolant about forcing everybody within ear shot to thoroughly learn the lessons of their phone conversations. I am not impressed. My ears and mind does not function properly when the man sitting near me on the train yells out one half of this conversation:

“Hey there, Gab, I heard you had a dandy-o time with your hotel! Do you need some more RGBHB cables for your project? Ok, I will send them right over. Yes, yes, that is true and it will pay for the return trip on the train. How about those girls in Puerto Rico?”

“So it is like the dump of dumps, it is like the worst hotel ever!”

“Ken’s working on it”

“Today is going to be one of those days, I thought I was flying out of LaGuardia but I am flying out of Newark. I don’t know if I can make it with the business meeting I have this afternoon.”

“I never been in that part of New York [referring about my back-country homeland] and now I know why . It was . . . uh . . . unique.”

“Hello Gordie, I have a 5 – 10 our of Newark. It is going to be close.”

“Do you think we can start the meeting without Mike Parts? Has Mike Brown gone over his stuff?”

Bill Burnie, Mike Steve, Merril Lynch, where do they get these bread-mill names?

I would like to see the business man next to me throw himself from the top of a skyscraper on Wall Street and bounce when he hits the pavement. Yes, I hear that the bodies of businessmen first bounce before they splat when they fail to transact on the final investment.

I think they are robots or made of rubber or some other new synthetic material. I know that they are not humans.

Talk, talk, talking on his stupid cell phone so that the entire train can hear about RGBHG cables and how they are 140 GGB. I don’t care about cables and this fellow who is sitting next to me gabbing about them in business man slang is making my stomach wretch.

If I had any food in my belly it would surely be on the floor by now. Which would be my only contribution to the cell phone business meeting that my proximity (should) make me a part of.

Why do I continue sitting here like an ass?

You know, I am the kind of man who prides himself on the fact that he will stand up and move to another seat on a crowded subway if the fellow next to him farts.

I should start applying the same rule to business men talking business on cellular telephones.

For they are nothing more than giant farts decked out in button down shirts, slick shoes, and cellular telephones. Fart-people discussing farts.

I am tired and grumpy. I stayed up until 2 AM working on an article for Cafe Abroad InPrint and work up at 3:30 AM to catch my train.

Riding the train back to New York City with the murderous rage of a tired baby.

Links to previous travelogue entries:

• Cockfight Video Censured by YouTube
• Wisdom of China
• Enlightenment at Ryoanji Rock Garden