When the plane landed I turned my mobile on. While walking through the terminal and on my way to find the tube station at Heathrow, the phone rang. It was my lunch date, who was sitting at the restaurant waiting for me. I was an hour and a half late, and I still had more travelling to do. To say I was pissed that the plane was late is putting it mildly; there was no bad weather in Munich, nor was there bad weather upon arrival at Heathrow. Damn it anyway! My heart began pounding and I could feel my blood pressure rise. Lunch was now out of the question, since meeting number two had priority over a social occasion. Thankfully my lunch date understood and I promised to make it up to him.

Now that lunch was cancelled, maybe it would make up for the delay that set my schedule back an hour. I rushed through Heathrow trying to find the tube. Previous trips to London didn't involve taking the tube, so I found myself in unfamiliar territory. The next thing I knew, I was at the passport check area and couldn't find a way out. Regardless of my insistence that I was merely passing through that day, the folks at the passport check weren't listening. They had me get in line with the rest of the arrivals. By the time I got up to the head of the line it was 20 minutes later. I showed them my passport, my plane tickets (Munich-London-Amsterdam, etc.) and asked for directions to the tube. Upon reading my plane ticket, they told me it wasn't necessary for me to go through passport check (uh, no kidding. I stood on line because I followed your instructions.)

After I found my way out of passport check I bolted toward the tube entrance. I had no clue what train to take. It didn't help that I was dressed for cold weather and the temperature was unseasonably warm. Between the rapid heartbeat and the perspiration, my neat and pulled-together appearance quickly began to wilt. I was grateful that the gentlemen in the information booth at the tube was not only a jolly fellow with a big broad smile, but also sympathetic to my confusion and did what he could to help set me on a proper course. Once I settled into my seat on the tube, I prayed for a quick trip, only to find that it was taking much, much longer than expected. I attempted to phone ahead to my next appointment to say I was delayed, but the mobile wasn't working now. I was screwed. This isn't the way I do business. I hate being late for anything and it's just plain rude, plus it's a guarantee that the first impression of me has literally gone down the tubes.

When the train pulled into Covent Garden I took off like lightning. I needed to find the address quickly. I stopped the first person I saw on the street and asked for directions; I soon found out that he pointed me in the wrong direction. When I realized this, I stopped someone else. I begged and pleaded. PLEASE HELP, I just need proper directions. This kind soul offered to walk me over to where I needed to go. Once there, I climbed the stairs taking long strides and bypassing 2 or 3 steps in my haste to get into that office. By this point I was dripping with perspiration, the wool of my suit and stockings stuck to my skin. I was a mess.

The receptionist, a lovely pulled-together woman with impeccable taste, eyed me up and down when I gave her my name and told her of my meeting. She informed me that her boss, the CEO of the office, had grown weary of waiting for me to arrive, that he couldn't believe I didn't call ahead to say I would be late, and assumed I wasn't showing up. She then told me he'd gone out of the office with a colleague. Though I understood perfectly that the man need not sit around waiting for her highness to arrive, I couldn't help but feel that my efforts to get there were in vain. I was disappointed, but decided to wait it out and sat there so I could at least apologize to him face-to-face.

Half an hour later he walked through the door. Somehow he knew I was his tardy appointment, and he turned and looked me in the eye and scolded me before I had a chance to explain. I knew at that moment that I didn't want to work with this guy. There was something about him terribly off-putting, and though he ended up meeting with me anyway, I surprised myself when I recommended one of my Berlin colleagues for the position. I figured it was the least I could do -- give him something so all would not be a complete waste of my time and effort.

When our meeting was over, I had little time to return to Heathrow and get on the plane to Frankfurt and then make my connecting flight to Amsterdam. Somehow, some way, I made it back to Heathrow, the flight to Frankfurt slightly delayed, and I found myself begging for the flight attendant's help (I was seated in the last row of the plane) to get up and out to make my connection. I have no idea what she did, but after resigning myself to the realization that I'd miss the flight due to waiting for the entire plane to empty, I still made it to the gate and caught my flight. When I arrived in Amsterdam, a friend was waiting for me at the airport and she asked me what I wanted to do. It was 11 p.m. in Amsterdam. I told her I just wanted to sit down, catch my breath and have a cocktail. *sigh*