Robert Kaplinsky drops me off at the front of the district building. I make my way to the room where I’ll be presenting. I set up. I go out into the hallway, walk around — long enough to get lost. I’m looking for something.
I don’t know where my backpack is. Where did I leave my phone? I don’t have my wallet either.
Maybe I left everything in Robert’s car.
I’d call him… if I had my phone.
I take a few more steps and feel something off. I look down. I’m wearing flip-flops.
They’re broken.
No — both straps are broken.
I can’t walk in these. I just stand there, staring at the damage. The straps aren’t just pulled through the holes — they’re torn.
This isn’t some “oops, fix it quickly” situation. This is shoeless doom.
More importantly, why am I wearing flip-flops to a presentation?
Only three or four people are wandering the building. No one sees me. No one notices me standing there like a sad ghost in the middle of the hallway with non-functional sandals. I spot a woman. I yell out to her.
She comes over. I point to my feet, hoping she’ll take the cue and notice my tragic footwear situation without making me explain. My voice is full of self-pity:
“I’m trying to get back to my room. Where I’ll be presenting today. I don’t know the room number, but it exists — I was there earlier.
I don’t have my stuff. Like nothing. I have no shoes.”
I jolt awake.
As if the back-to-school nightmares weren’t enough — I have #PDNightmares now.
I’m about to board my flight, excited to facilitate another full-day PD.
I’m wearing my favorite Italian leather boots.
Thanks.