War Stories: Press Checks Across America

Hang up, jump out of my hotel bed, pull on my clothes, three minutes have passed. Grab my brief case, check my loupe, out the door, hurry to my rental car, five minutes have passed.

The hotel is a mile from the plant through inky farmland. But I’ve practiced the route in daylight, I just need to hit the freeway by my hotel, take the first exit, drive one mile north, and I’m there. So I exit my hotel, hit the on-ramp, there’s the first exit just ahead, but it’s filled with flashing yellow lights, road crew trucks—THEY’VE BLOCKED MY EXIT! The press crew has probably already begun saving, all my meat shots are probably green, 10 minutes have now passed. I’m late.