Point of View

Georgia on My Mind

I feel like a stranger here these days with all that’s been going on lately. My schedule has certainly taken on a life of its own and I am along for the ride. I have been juggling the many tasks of work, school, drums and now an internship at the college.
I just returned from the annual manager’s meeting at our corporate headquarters in Marietta, Ga. I have worked for this company for five years and have been eager to visit and meet the many people with whom I speak to via email or phone conferences on a daily basis, but not as thrilled about the actual purpose of the visit. The annual manager’s meeting. The word “meeting” alone conjures up thoughts of corporate brow-beatings and company politics with which I have never been fond of nor have very little use for. The transition from Marine Corps life to civilian life was not very easy for me, having fallen into a comfortable sense of security among my fellow Marines. There was a bond and a trust that was established from the very first day in basic training. Corporate America is worried about one thing... the bottom-line.
I arrived in Georgia and was met by menacing grey clouds and a bitterly cold wind, having just missed a very sever storm that crippled a large part of the city which left downed power lines and splintered trees in its wake. I worked my way through the maze, better known as Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport to the curbside baggage claim where I enjoyed a very much needed Red-Apple, waiting in the stifling cold for the shuttle van. I stood there; carry on baggage safely tucked between my legs wishing I hadn’t given all my winter survival gear away during the ice-scraper ceremony prior to my departure from Chicago to Arizona.
The cold air made short work of my exposed skin and brought back memories of life in Chicago. I was working on my second Red-Apple when the shuttle van pulled up, the driver, Bobby, obviously noticing my frigid state stopped short to allow me some added “air-time.”  His call to my cell phone alerted me to his presence and through the laughter of those already warmly on board; I joined them, lugging my baggage into an available seat. Through chattering teeth I said my hello’s to my fellow managers, most of them quite comfortable with the air temperature. Angie and Bob where in from our Kansas City shop, Catherine from our Chicago shop, Jon and Tabitha from our Wisconsin shop, Bill right at home from our Atlanta shop, which left me and Harold, both from the desert; Harold arriving from our Vegas shop. We were still waiting on a few others whose flights had just arrived. Once the Florida crew arrived we made our way out of the parking lot maze and onto I-75 towards Marietta and the Spaghetti Factory for our dinner and company social. Bobby weaved through the rush hour traffic, the van leaning as it tried to maintain traction with the wet pavement; Tabitha eyes squeezed closed not to happy with Bobby’s driving abilities.
As a dessert dweller, it was a welcome change to see the deep greens of the Georgia foliage and tall pine trees lining both sides of the freeway. The lingering scent of fresh cut grass and the recent rain rested warmly on my senses which rushed into the open window of the quickly moving van. It would be a quick, fly-by visit with little time for sightseeing but a rare chance to meet all the people I have come to depend on day-to-day.