Falling Up

I'm a do-er not a thinker.

While at the Emma Bowen Foundation conference in NYC in June, I made a very poor choice. Life is full of them, but this one left me bleeding and limping in heals for 3 days. No, I was not mugged; I fell up a down escalator.

I had to run back to my room to send a quick email for work before the conference started. As soon as I stepped onto the escalator to the lobby, I realized I had left my computer in the conference room. Now, when you are on a staircase and you realize you forgot something, you instinctively turn around and walk back up the stairs. This is a more difficult instinct to deal with when that staircase is moving in the opposite direction. On an escalator, your gut reaction should be to wait it out to the end of the moving vehicle and play it cool as you step back onto the opposite escalator and wave to the people you were just riding with.

When I turned to run up the moving treadmill, I immediately fell and tripped down an estimated 4-5 steps (it's difficult to say because the whole thing was moving at the time). I bounced back up embarrassed to have fallen on a (thankfully) empty escalator. That's about when I realized my knee was throbbing and my pair of industrial black tights were turning a discolored black.

At this point, I was a little disoriented, so instead of going back to the room to send my email, survey the damage and change tights, I marched right back into the conference room and sat down for the rest of the day. Sure I noticed the blood drying to my tights and the inability to bend my now grapefruit-sized knee, but I had a conference to attend.

At the end of the day, I hobbled back to my room to change into dinner attire. When I went to take off my tights, I realized just how bad it was. The tights had actually acted as a scab for the eight hours I sat in the conference, and ripping them off was literally like pealing my skin off.

Turns out there are no band-aids in hotels anymore, so I had to to walk in the middle of downtown Manhattan to the nearest drugstore with one legging pulled above my knee, so the clotting didn't happen all over again.

Hot. Effing. Mess.

Three takeaways from this experience:

1) Do not text the word pussing (meaning the junk that comes out of wounds, not the other thing) to Big Texas (my mom). It just doesn't look right in writing.

2) Never wear tights when I could potentially fall down.

3) Never wear tights.

I'm Tanner Than You

I struggled with naming this blog. Seven days at the Ritz Carlton in Cancun, Mexico leaves you with a lot of time to people watch. Based on my observations, here are some title suggestions:

Kids and Their Obnoxious Parents
Kids and Technology
Kids and Louis Vuitton
When I was Ten…
I’m Going to Need to See a Manager
Built-in Floatation Devices
Bag of Bones
My Fair Behind
Eduardo y Yo
Buenos Dias, Buenos Aires, Same Thing
I Don’t Work on Vacation
Virgin Sacrifice

Instead of telling just one story, I organized the more interesting titles into chapters of my time in Cancun. Enjoy the circus.

I’m Tanner Than You
That’s all.

Obnoxious Kids and Parents
Children after age seven should not be allowed to leave the house until they turn sixteen. First they grow brains and loud mouths and then they hit puberty and they become unbearable. I was a kid once. I know. I don’t believe in only child syndrome. Only rotten parents and spoiled children, which I have seen plenty of in Cancun. There were too many times I wanted to interrupt a tantrum to inform the child he or she was probably a mistake. I refrained. I went on a lot of great vacations with my aunt as a kid, but I don’t think I ever hit her, requested better seating at a restaurant, or stripped naked and led her on a game of “catch the naked kid.” (All things I’ve seen here).

-Little girl on elevator: “Daddy I preferred the Ritz in California to our villa in Vail, Colorado.”
-One little boy to another little boy: “I was talking to the guy at the pool and I said, ‘You don’t have one? Well then I’m going to need to see a manager.’”
-Five year old boy to his mother: “Mommy get my iPhone.”

Obnoxious Kids and Technology
I would like to point out that I have never felt so ancient since arriving here. I haven’t seen so many children under ten with iPhones, iPods, iPads and Kindles. I doubt they know how to turn the page of a book with out a button. I told my dear friend J about this, and she asked if I threw the kids and all their toys in the pool. I would have; however, with all the silicone parts around here, all would have survived by grabbing the nearest floatation device. This brings me to my next chapter.

Built-in Floatation Devices
The number of fake boobs, butts, lips, tummies and thighs around here could save Venice from sinking.

My Fair Behind
The amount of times I’ve been to the hotel gym outnumbers the amount of times I’ve been to the gym in the last three months. I would like to say it’s because the facilities are beautiful and they pass out cold towels that smell like menthol, but it’s really because everyone here weighs negative 4 pounds.

Eduardo y Yo
I’ve made several friends with the staff around the hotel, mostly because I’m not afraid to speak Spanish with them. I think they appreciate someone who tries, and I appreciate them correcting me when I say something a little off. Eduardo at the pool brings me ice water in the morning and Jorge the bar manager knows l get my aunt a Diet Coke after dinner. (He also knows I am partial to tequila sunrises). I’m not dumb enough to think these extra perks are something reserved just for me, but I also know a little kindness goes a long way.

Buenos Dias, Buenos Aires
My aunt doesn’t speak Spanish at all, so I do my best to speak with the staff in Spanish for her. (There’s something about English that comes out so angry and rude when we order things). In an effort to be nice, my aunt greeted the housekeeper with “Buenos Aires!” She must have realized her attempt failed because she asked me what the greeting was again. I told her you say “Buenos dias” in the morning. You say “Buenos Aires” when you refer to the capital of Argentina.


I Don’t Work on Vacation
I’m sorry I’ve ignored your emails, phone calls and text messages, but I do not work on vacation. I promise the minute I get wifi on the plane, I will begin to respond to the requests waiting in my inbox, but there is something terrible about writing a report, strategic plan or press release while sitting in a beach chair. I think sunburn is guaranteed when you try to mix business and pleasure in this way. My aunt has spent 40% of this vacation sitting at her computer in the hotel room working on a large project for her fancy job that pays her enough to allow her to take me on vacations to the Ritz in Cancun. My theory: If in order to afford a vacation this nice, you have to work the entire time you are here, it’s not worth it.

In all, the trip was fantastic, warm and relaxing. Some time away was just what I needed after a crazy busy semester and an even nuttier one to come.