Syracuse

Syracuse! Syracuse.

Syracuse...

I have a friend from Syracuse, Danimal. His father, a medical doctor, is famous for popularizing the pap smear.

This is what Danimal looked like the last time I saw him:

He is a champion.

Danimal works for the Associated Press, covering financial news in New York. I name-drop him constantly, usually when talking out of my ass. I had this conversation today:

Coworker: How come you aren't done with those edits yet? I needed that an hour ago!
Me: Dude my friend who works for the Associated Press said the big rumor is we're bombing Iran today....and my brother's stationed in Oman so he might be going in.
Coworker: Wait...are you serious?
Me: I've been a little distracted.

What I never, ever mention is that:
1. I have no siblings of worth
2. Danimal was born and raised in the sad, cold little town of Syracuse (wannabe Albany) where I once went for a client visit.

I asked for a food recommendation and he referred me to the Dinosaur Bar-B-Que, operated by Creationists. My team did not eat there, preferring to sample delicious regional cuisine from Fresno's Southwest Grill.

Our meetings only lasted a few hours so we spend the next two days snowed in at the Syracuse airport, which is smaller than my cubicle. About eight hours after the airport bar closed it became like Lord of the Flies: tribes of feral businesspeople lurching aimlessly around with sharpened BlackBerries, scrounging for sustenance and fighting for survival in the desolation of gate B5.

(As consultants, we formed a consultant tribe and prospered by advising other tribes on how to steal food from Sbarro's. Which was surprisingly easy.)

Also as a consultant, Syracuse airport, I consult you this:
1. Increase beer selection. Drastically.
2. Sbarro's? Really?
3. Buy some snow plows because sometimes in Syracuse it snows a lot.
4. Good job with the free wireless.
5. Seriously, though, snow plows.

Eventually they stopped canceling every flight at the airport and I made it home alive. Much to the chagrin of my roommates, who were enjoying the spooge-free shower.

And that's the story of my wretched trip to Syracuse.