Krug: Top tips for the fledgling business fliers

As I wrote this, six and a half miles above Kansas, my shoulders were canted to the right at about 18 degrees, like a yogi performing a deep scapula stretch. My left forearm was in a locked and upright position, hovering above the massive girth that is my snoring, anonymous traveling companion. This dude’s hands were the size of boxing gloves and had he stepped onto a scale, he would tip the scales altogether, causing the gears to go flying out of the top. He occupied approximately 176 percent of his seat and gave little back to the aisle. I tried not to wake him for fear that he might shift his center of gravity and suffocate me. No big deal, right? After all, it only was a 4-hour flight with a half-hour on the ground on either side of a bumpy ride. It was just another chapter in the life of a professional traveler facing a new life on the road. No matter how I might try to adjust my flying situation, I have no status with any airline and often find myself making plans at the last minute. Most of the time, it works out just fine. But, every so often, I find myself living the life of a middle-seater.

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I tip my cap to the seasoned fliers and the million-milers. That elite group of business professionals whose offices lie on the inside of Transportation Safety Administration checkpoints. You’ve had six-hour layovers in Tampa and missed connections at that airport that looks like a pregnant dog laying on its back in Denver. You’ve eaten more honey-roasted nuts than the entire Republic of Squirrel could imagine stockpiling. That’s not the life of kings, but you make it look easy. And I salute you. These seasoned fliers have it all over me. These men and women make it through the security checkpoint faster than would seem humanly possible, moving their laptops and toiletries (all 4 ounces or fewer — no exceptions, my friend) with the dexterity of shiftless grifters and the slickest of pickpockets. I simply watch in amazement as their belts, slip-on shoes and cellular phones hit the bins in perfect harmony, making no semblance of a sound. In a matter of seconds, they are unburdened of their metal objects, shoeless and through the checkpoint, practically high-fiving the TSA agent as they pass through the scanner without incident. The next time I make it through without a gum wrapper or a dime wedged into the corner of a pocket will be the first time. But I’m me. I have developed habits that will be difficult to amend. As noted, I still carry dimes for no good reason. I may be unfixable. You, my friend, are fresh out of the box. You still have a fighting chance. If you are considering a life at 37,000 feet and dream of free drink tickets, frequent-flier miles and jetting off to exotic places such as Milwaukee (which has a fantastic airport, in all honesty), buckle up, buttercup. There are few things that we are going to have to cover before you go all in.

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 So take it from me, the guy who’s learning the ropes, here are a few things to keep in mind: Schedule the earliest flights that you can. You never know what’s going to happen. If you are locked in by weather, the first to the airport are almost always the first to get out. The whole point of going to the airport is to not spend any more time there than is absolutely necessary. Get to the airport early. And by early, I mean before the plane leaves — yes, every time. You can’t bowl without a lane and planes don’t come like buses. Get on your plane and get on your way. Sitting in the airport, waiting for the next plane, is as pleasant as standing in line for the men’s room at Wrigley Field. Beg like a dog. Sit. Stay. Roll over. Fetch if you must. Whatever the person at the gate is telling you to do to get a seat improvement (Position 1: Middle to Aisle; Position 2: Middle to Window), do it. Don’t talk back. Don’t make a frowny face. If this means sacrificing your dignity, which is a distinct possibility if you are flying out of O’Hare on a regular basis, just bite your tongue and smile like an idiot. Never be too proud or too sweet to get to a different seat. (That kind of even rhymes.) Bag check is for suckers. If you are paying $25 to take a bag that you don’t need, you are wasting money. OK, so maybe the cash is not yours. That money comes from somewhere, Chumley, so don’t spend it like you at “da club.” And you’re going to need to show that you can manage your money if you want to stay on the road. This begins with a little preparation: Pack like you mean it. Unless you are going around the world, your stuff can fit into a carry-on. I’ve subjected myself to both the “Accidental Tourist” and the “Air Up There.” I believe a study soon will be released proving that you can pack a baby elephant into a duffle bag. And, for crying out loud, they have irons where you are going. It’s OK if your shirt gets a little wrinkled in transit. Taking a limo is for showboats. If you need a black car to impress the folks in Erie, Pa., you’ve wandered off course. Unless you are Jay-Z, you are not Jay-Z. Jump in the most dented, yellowest cab that you can find. The dents mean the driver isn’t afraid to trade some paint to get his fares where they need to be. And cabbies always know things. Buy some local knowledge in every town you visit. Give some of that money you didn’t waste on a bag check to the cabbie as a tip, and get your trip to the hotel set up on the spot. Get your work done. You aren’t flying for the fun of experiencing sonic thrust or for the thrill of hurtling through space in a metal cigar for nothing. You are on the road to do business. You are representing your company — your brand — for the purpose of successfully executing something. Don’t screw it up. Be on time. Be on point. Be direct. And then be gone, because the people there don’t have an entire day to spend listening to you talk about your career batting average in the Far Rockaway Sunday Afternoon Men’s Recreational 12-inch Softball League. In fact, as soon as you pull the plug on your power cord, the expectation is that you are on your merry way. So start scooting. Knock out a reasonable dinner. Business travelers tend not to eat on the road as they might at home. At home, dinner might consist of Cocoa Puffs. On the road, it’s filet mignon. Rookie travelers destroy their reputations on the road by eating as if they are challenging Takeru Kobayashi, the guy that eats like a thousand hot dogs on ESPN on the Fourth of July. Take it easy, greasy. Keep the bill reasonable, and don’t drink your dinner. You are not a fraternity pledge that was sent out on the road to ride mechanical bulls and win unsanctioned vodka-drinking contests. Always stay near the airport. Sure, the sound of planes zooming over your hotel might be a distraction. Get used to it, pal. Focus on those frequent-flier miles that will get you onto that flight to the Big Island. You have to go to Long Island, Longmont, and Montpelier before you start calling your own shots. To make that happen, you have to get on the plane. We’ve already gone through this. C’mon. Johnny Cash has been everywhere, man, and you’ve been nowhere. You’re way behind. Go to sleep. Wake Up. And then leave. You are a professional. Make sure you set multiple alarms. Adjust the thermostat to whatever temperature your spouse forbids at home and then wind down. Before you hit the rack, lay out your clothes on hangers, have your shoes polished and your extraneous gear packed. Leave the hotel like you stole something. Don’t actually steal anything — unless it is one of those sweet terrycloth robes, and you are sure that you can completely get away with it. Get back to the airport. Have your cabbie from the previous day lined up for the morning run. Have that cab waiting there at least 20 minutes before you want it. Get to the airport early. Give that cabbie another decent tip. Get some work done. Have a cup of $6 coffee with the money you saved from not checking that bag. Sit back and enjoy the ride. So that sumo wrestler and former NFL lineman that you are wedged between in the middle seat probably have business cards; Darwinian theory dictates that you identify yourself as a friend so as not to be confused for food. Introduce yourself. Engage some chat. Don’t be a bad passenger. If they’re not interested in talking to you, pop the $8 for the Wi-Fi and bang out some emails. Remember to thank the folks you just visited. They’ll appreciate that. Go home. You live there. Look at the people around you, if you have any. If you come home to an empty house, consider getting a cat. Sit down on your couch and flip through the channels. Try to convince yourself there is no such thing as jetlag. Zonk out. Dream about a overbooking vouchers and a window seat in first class. You’re on your way, big-time business traveler.

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As always, stay classy. Chris Krug is president of the progressive media communications firm No Limit Agency* in Chicago. No Limit is a full-service agency whose practice focuses on strategy, brand management, creative campaigns and delivering unparalleled placement in the media. No Limit Agency works with some of the best-known brands in North America, and that’s not a coincidence. Contact Krug by calling 312-526-3996 or via email at [email protected].