Every once in a while, I bump into an old colleague, supplier or client from my corporate past and they’ll ask me how my new self-employed life is going. Of course, what I imagine they’re really asking is…please tell me it’s failing miserably so that I don’t have to go back to my desk in 20 minutes for a conference call with some global “team” where I’ll sit and question WTF I’m doing with my life (even more than usual).
And of course, there’s a small part of me that would love to indulge them and say, well, yeah, it sucks because now when I travel, there’s no black car and suited chauffeur waiting for me at the airport with my name on a clipboard, who’s going to drive me to a fancy hotel whilst talking about the weather, and then hand me over to a bellboy who (btw) somehow also knows my name, and will carry my luggage up to an executive suite where he’ll sweetly begin walking me around the amenities [telephone-here, shower-there, tiny bottles of Molton Brown yay!], whilst I look for ice to pour myself a scotch. [Corporate or not, one should always travel, with scotch].