Receipts.

I travel on business a little more than I travel for pleasure. Sometimes the two intermingle, as I tend to bring a daughter or two with me if the destination holds some draw. But, since my work doesn't pay for the kiddies, I have to keep receipts separate, or sort through them all after the fact. And, let me tell you, that takes forever. So, my simple solution is this: while traveling, I always get a receipt. If the receipt is for something that is non-work related, I fold it in half and put in in the billfold section of my wallet. But, if the receipt is work-related or reimbursable, I fold it lengthwise in half before stuffing it in the same billfold. Then, when I return from traveling, I pull out all my receipts and separate them into the business fold and the non-business fold (aka "the pleasure fold"). It simplifies things a bit.

However, there are times when getting a receipt is tough, or just slips my mind completely. On a business trip to the Middle East last year, I had such a situation when I shelled out 30 bucks to a cab driver and then had no proof of the act. But I turned it in on my travel report anyway, I mean, thirty dollars is thirty dollars! In order to reimburse me for the out of pocket expense, my boss asked me to write an explanation of the missing receipt. She had no idea what she was in for!

The aforementioned "written explanation for the missing receipt" is below. (A little exposition before you read: I produce robot tournaments, and I travel to a number of them in far away places. I coordinate with the local planners to make sure that they have everything we need for a successful tournament. If we don't, the buck stops here. So, obviously, I have my priorities.)

Travel to Doha, Qatar: Elizabeth Whitewolf’s written explanation of the missing receipt

Qatar is a small country with a desert climate, surrounded on three sides by the Persian Gulf. It has few fresh water resources and, thus, should have an ample reserve of plumbing supplies; however, there seem to be no 1" PVC cross pieces anywhere inside the country. The local planner had searched in vein for the three cross pieces needed to complete the Botball regulation game board, but they were nowhere to be found in the entire country, and he refused to cross into Saudi Arabia for the cause. So, we eventually decided that I would smuggle the needed PVC pieces in my checked luggage. Otherwise, there would be no robot tournament.

I bought three 1" PVC cross pieces, packed them tightly between my sandals and my Botball ladies polo, and headed to the Richmond airport for my Wednesday night flight. But somewhere between leaving the house and my arrival at the airport, the outgoing flight became dangerously delayed. I would have missed my connection, so United thoughtfully rebooked me for the following morning: an American flight and then two British Air flights all the way to Doha. I would arrive a mere 18 hours after my scheduled arrival. All I had to do was show up at 9am in the morning...except the following morning did not go as planned.

Hours after arriving at the Richmond airport, I found myself stranded in Chicago O’Hare International Airport, abandoned by both American Airlines and British Air, who refused to take me any further because of “United’s re-booking error.” As far as I could tell, the "re-booking error" boiled down to this, United had failed to notify the Queen's airline of the re-booking. The beautiful British Air counter rep was not impressed with my printed paper ticket issued by United, and she would not let me board the overbooked flight. In a flawless British accent and much pomp, she turned me away. So I had to try to convince the ticket agent at American and then United that I was Wronged. (And, of course, both airlines were housed in different terminals.) I indeed had a paid ticket to Qatar, and I was already hours past my original arrival time in Doha, but nobody seemed able to help me. After telling my story twice to smiling ticket agents and three times to unfortunate standers-by, it dawned on me that my luggage, being mute and without opposable thumbs, had an even lesser chance of making it to our final destination than I did. So once I sorted out my mess and got booked on a flight to London (thanks to United who finally fessed up), I turned my efforts to my luggage. After all, there were important PVC pieces in there which we couldn't do without in Qatar.

I visited the luggage claim desk at American and my story about the inevitable loss of my suitcase was met with a blank stare. Twice. So I made my way to the United luggage claim desk and got much of the same stare but with a hint of mockery. At that point I chalked my suitcase up as gone. It was not going to make it. Thinking only of the Botball tournament, I went immediately outside and hailed a cab. “Get me to the nearest hardware store!” I demanded, and I watched as the meter climbed steadily… 5 dollars…7 dollars…12 dollars... We finally arrived at an Ace Hardware and I ran inside, “I’ll only be a minute,” I said to the driver. And it was true. I found those PVC pieces in no time flat. Returning to the cab the meter was at 14 dollars, and we sped back to the airport. In retrospect, I realize that maybe I should have stopped at a Wal-Mart store on the way back; you know, for clothes or toiletries, or anything else that would no doubt go missing with my suitcase. But, my mind was focused on work , and at least I had that handled, so when we pulled up to the terminal, I handed the driver thirty dollars in cash (the meter read $24). I slammed the door and checked my watch. I still had time, about an hour even, but I had no receipt. I turned and cried to the rapidly receding taxi, “Wait! Please! My receipt...” I even whole-heartdly ran a few paces after it, but with no sign of brake lights, I gave up. I sighed, and walked in to the airport to begin another 17 hours of air travel.