Business travel has become so bad that everyone is ‘Cody Cursed.’ In fact, friends and family alike now
use the once ‘inner circle-only’ catch phrase to describe their most recent business trip from hell (i.e. ‘I’ve been Cody Cursed on my way to Denver. We have an indefinite delay.’ Or ‘Sure enough, the plane landed on time, but I was Cody Cursed with a no-show limo driver.’).
I’m less-than-thrilled to report that I’ve been Cody Cursed once again. My return flight from O’Hare two nights ago was early (‘That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. We should be in Newark a full 30 minutes early tonight,’ bellowed our effervescent captain). But, once we were on the ground, bingo, the good ol’ curse kicked in again (‘Ah, ladies and gentlemen, Captain Stanley Kowalski here. As I said, we did arrive early but, unfortunately, there’s no gate for us. As a result, we’ll taxi on over to an open area and wait. So, sit back, relax and as soon as we have an update, well I’ll be right back in touch.’). Piss off.
Thirty minutes later and we’re still sitting. At least, I can feel some comfort in the knowledge that, along with Kleenex and Xerox, the Cody Curse has become a generic term. A ‘Murphy’s Law’ in the air, if you will. And, that’s a good thing (except, that is, when you’re caught in the middle of one).