Fat and unfashionable

As you can tell, I'm an observer of people. I've noticed a recurring theme among the slice of Americans I get to spend time with on the auto show circuit: a desperate need for more episodes of What Not To Wear and a lack of dietary restraint.

People. Put away the acid wash. I know you're not a hipster because we're in places like Kansas and Alabama and Nebraska and those are the kinds of places where hipsters are called fags and sent to those religious brainwashing camps, and even hipsters and the Kardashians look ridiculous in acid wash.

I know 1988 was your heyday. I know you're proud you can still fit into your jeans from high school. Who cares if you can only do it by hoisting your fupa over the waistband? Who cares if they are absolutely yellow with age and hard water stains?

If you must wear it at all, must you wear every piece you own all at the same time? Is it necessary to pair your acid wash jeans with your acid wash jacket and shirt? There are children in third world countries that are in desperate need of clothing to protect them from the elements, and I would rather you burn this sh!t than send it to them -- they should be spared the same indignity to which you are obliviously subjecting yourselves.

I'm not saying I expect you all in Brooks Brothers suits, Dior dresses and Burberry coats. Just go to Target and buy a pair of $30 normal wash jeans, for crying out loud. Welcome to the new millennium.

And for Christ's sake make sure they fit without the fupa hoist. Want to know how to avoid the fupa hoist? Stop eating breakfast at McDonald's, lunch at Taco Bell and dinner at Denny's. In fact, just avoid anything on this website. I don't know how many times I've heard the same people that b!tch about the seats being too small make snide comments about what we booth babes must do to keep fit figures.

These comments are generally made with mouths full of nachos and cups full of Orange Crush. Yes, obviously I must snort buckets of cocaine in order to not blow up like something floating over Manhattan at the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. Or maybe it's because I didn't inhale 3 blocks of Ryba's fudge today? (This wouldn't be such an issue for me if these people weren't making nasty comments about us... and if my monthly health insurance premiums weren't the equivalent of a car payment because of other people's diet-induced heart disease and diabetes.)

So. No acid wash jeans. No fupa. Lay off the nachos -- especially while in the cars, please. The last thing I need is to slide into the backseat to talk to the next person and land in a pile of your nasty fake liquid cheese product. You don't want to know how hard it is to find late night, overnight dry cleaning in middle America.

I'll expect you spic and span at the start of auto show season in November.

Oops

Oh boy, wouldyalookatthat. Been a while since my last update. I haven't forgotten about you, my dearies. I've simply been loving my time off. However, I will be back Sunday or Monday with a piece on everybody's favorite subject outside of sex: food! Tune in.

Shoot the gap

It's always the ones you least expect.

I've heard the same story so many times from sales guys: Some guy wearing dirty old clothes comes into the dealership and is ignored by one salesperson, and when he comes back the next day in a suit (because he's actually filthy rich but likes to mow his own lawn for sh!ts and giggles) he gives his business to someone else who didn't pre-judge him.

Now, I can pretty much tell who's going to be a total knob to me from the next display over. I can see it in the expression on your face when you're talking to the other brand's booth babes, by the way you carry yourself. And yet, I refrain from judgement (outwardly at least) and talk to you anyway in the same friendly way I do the non-knobs, until you piss me off. And even then I just end the conversation and walk away. I don't even punch you in the junk! 

Point is, I don't judge a book by its cover because on rare occasion the pre-spotted knobs have turned out to be cool. And the lady you think will only be interested in vanity mirrors and cup holders may have a nascent need for speed that only you can help develop.

I love it when a woman pushing a stroller asks me to compare torque numbers within our lineup.

I love it when a 7-year-old girl rattles off more technical specs than a Detroit engineer.

I love it when I overhear Grandmas talk about the "real" purpose of rear seat privacy shades (naughty Grandma). It's always far less creepy than when Grandpa does the same.

I love it when I shock the hell out of some know-it-all by, well, knowing it all.

Don't assume, kids. Ass. You. Me. Etc.

Minivan man

Last week on TheTruthAboutCars.com I discussed the various ways in which your vehicle is preventing you from getting laid. Some readers took issue with my inclusion of minivans in the list of vehicular dating no-no's, I'm assuming because they themselves drive one and have not gotten laid by their wives or anyone else since their last perpetually sticky, screaming rugrat was born.

Someone brought up the issue of musicians, saying they drive minivans and have no problem getting laid. I don't know what kind of children's party players this guy is hanging out with, but I know more than my share of professional musicians and not one of them drives a minivan. They are all rolling in pickup trucks with caps or SUVs. Very occasionally do I even see an Econoline-type van anymore.

But if you still think I'm wrong about the minivan thing, I'd like you to meet Jesse Thornhill. He drives a minivan - a 1996 Ford Winstar, to be precise. He was arrested in Tulsa, OK for trying to run over his landlord with said minivan, as a matter of fact.

Interested, ladies? I'm pretty sure he's single.

Photo and info courtesy of The Smoking Gun.

Airport woes Pt 1

So obviously I travel, a lot. I travel so much that in the last four years I've earned enough miles for five free round-trip domestic airline tickets and countless first class upgrades. Most of that travel occurs December through April.

I am intimately familiar with many airports in this country. (Here's a free travel tip for you: There's a "secret" security gate at the Detroit airport that never has a line. It connects the W to the rest of the terminal. Use this information wisely.) I am also intimately familiar with the travel habits of the American public. It's not any better in the airport than at the auto show; the only difference is that people aren't asking me stupid questions.

My biggest annoyance at the airport isn't check-in or security lines (my frequent flier status usually allows me to bypass them), having to take my shoes off or flight delays (I've actually been really lucky in that department, knock on wood).

No, my friends, it is the people mover that is my nemesis.

Well not the people mover itself, but the people ON the people mover. People who apparently cannot read the six signs along the way that say "Stand to the right, walk on the left." That are written in at least two languages, often three.

I'm so glad you have all day to lollygag around and get in other people's way, but some of us have things to do. Things like, oh, I don't know, catch our flights maybe? Since we're here at the airport and all? There are a dozen people trying to get by you and you barely budge from the middle of the mover, throwing shade at those of us who actually read the sign and are following the rules of people mover traffic.

Then there are the people who are actually following the letter of the law by standing on the right, but their suitcase is totally blocking the left side. More shade throwing when you say "Excuse me."

You are not Supreme Leader of the Airport. You don't get to inconvenience everyone else because you're oblivious and lazy.  Move over or I'll run you over. I've done it before and I'll do it again. If you don't move over after I've asked you politely (multiple times even!) then you're probably going to get whacked by one of my bags as I move past you anyway. Not on purpose, but that's what you get for not following the rules of the people mover.

Yet another example of Special Little Snowflake Syndrome in action.

PS - Check out my column this week over at TheTruthAboutCars.com!

Don't shoot the messenger

It was brought to my attention via a great blog post at CrankyDriver.com that the comments on my column over at TTAC last week got a little rough. I resisted the urge to go look for myself. Ugly comments really only reinforce what I write about here.

When I wrote those couple of pieces for Jalopnik I made the mistake of refreshing my browser almost obsessively, reading each and every comment and getting more and more pissed. I'd keep reading over the course of the next couple of days, as long as the feeding frenzy continued. It accomplished nothing but to make me feel, well, icky. I obviously encounter enough a$$holes on a daily basis. I don't need to add any more to the mix.

Here on this blog I have the luxury of moderating comments. If you're a dick, your comment doesn't get posted. Simple as that. I'm not here to give you a forum in which to make yourself feel like a big man by being sh!tty to me.

But I don't have that luxury elsewhere, so I have a rule. I generally stop reading comments over at TTAC after the first day. A full day's worth of comments is long enough to give me a sense of what the general direction of readers attitudes will be. Last week was actually the only time it got as ugly as it did. The first day I responded to some people and ignored the worst offenders, but I could see that it was taking a turn towards a Jalopnik-style free-for-all so I didn't go back. Nor will I.

The thing that really gets me is this: If you are so upset and worked up over what I wrote, I can guarantee you that you are the person I'm writing about. You're pissed because I just called you out on your idiocy. Frankly, everyone else - the normal, polite, engaging, non-sexist, non-racist, hygienic, intelligent people - everyone else thinks it's funny.And they think it's funny because they know it's true.

The things I write about don't just happen to me, and they don't just happen at the auto show. Anyone who has worked with the public for any amount of time can tell the same stories. The only difference is I'm standing in a convention center when these things happen, and they are waiting tables or ringing up your purchases or writing your traffic tickets or trying to help you at the bank.

So I'm not the only person who thinks you're an a$$hole. Basically, everyone you encounter every day of your life thinks you're an a$$hole. Don't shoot the messenger.

Booth Babe Media

It's been a fun media week for yours truly here at Do You Come with the Car!

My weekly column at TheTruthAboutCars.com is super fun to write, and this week's post was no exception. I've been seeing some pretty sweet rides around town and wanted to share the beauty - check it out... My column appears every Sunday, so keep your eyes open for it!

I was also interviewed for a story on the current and changing role of product specialists for a piece at Autos.Sympatico.ca. Another fun one, just trying to spread the word that we're more than pretty faces... You can find the story here: Heels and Wheels.

I wanted to print the interview in its entirety... There's some stuff he didn't use (which is totally fine; it didn't really change the context of anything he did use) and I think being able to read the whole thing gives a fuller picture. Many thanks to Michael Banovsky for the awesome story, for thinking of me in the first place and for generally being awesome!

How did you come across this job?
I was doing convention work and was staffed as a local at an auto show - meaning I was there to assist the product specialists with things like lead generation, not to talk about the cars. I liked their job a lot better!

How long have you been working in this capacity?
I have been an automotive product specialist for four years, but have been doing other types of experiential automotive marketing as well as a working fashion, commercial and promotional/convention model for much longer.

What’s the proper term for your work?
The sharp-dressed people like me at the auto show who talk about the vehicles on the mic or one-on-one are called product specialists. I use the term "booth babe" on my blog as a facetious nod to those who use it derisively.
 
On your blog, you talk a lot about a lack of etiquette during the auto show. Do you think it comes with the territory or is there something deeper?
It isn't just a lack of etiquette, although the public at large certainly does seem to have forgotten how to use the key phrases "please," "thank you," and "excuse me." This job has opened my eyes to the still-strong undercurrent of sexism in our society. When I try to discuss this on my blog I receive comments such as, "What do you expect when you're wearing a miniskirt?" A) We don't wear miniskirts, we wear business suits or cocktail attire (except for the Fiat brands, but that's a whole other can of worms) and B) It doesn't matter what myself or anyone else is wearing - everyone deserves respect regardless of their appearance. It quickly became apparent to me that a large segment of men think an attractive woman can't possibly know anything about cars. Frankly, I know more than most of the salespeople and nearly all the attendees. My favorite moments at the show are when a male salesperson sends an incredulous dude my way to get an answer to a technical question.

Have you heard stories of the “old days”? Do you think your work is becoming more progressive? Why/why not?
Margery Krevsky, the President/CEO of Productions Plus (which casts a huge chunk of the talent you see at the auto show) recently wrote a book called "Sirens of Chrome" which details the history of the auto show model and how our role changed throughout the years. We started literally as hood ornaments and now are the go-to experts not just at the auto show, but at marketing events across the country. Margery recognized years and years ago that we could contribute to automotive marketing on a much larger scale than just standing around looking pretty. We are walking, talking product handbooks, and how well we answer questions about the vehicles we represent has a direct impact on whether that attendee will buy our car or one of our competitor's.

What sort of training do you do before a show?
Every year we have an intensive training session lasting several days in which we go over every vehicle on our lineup with a fine tooth comb, learning all the new features and how they compare not only to the previous model year but to competitive vehicles. Our trainers, all of whom have engineering backgrounds, have intimate knowledge of not just our product line but automotive technology in general. We leave with piles and piles of information - literally a suitcase full - that we digest during the ensuing weeks before the auto show season starts. Sometimes some of this info is rather top secret, albeit temporarily - it might have to do with details of a concept the company is working on or a new vehicle release or redesign, the details of which have not yet been released to the press. They want us to have time to learn everything by the time the information does go public. Throughout the year we are constantly kept up-to-date with new information as it becomes available.

How many products are you required to know about?
We are required to know every vehicle on our lineup. Sometimes you'll be drawn to a particular vehicle and take a special interest in the minute details of that one, but we must be able to speak in depth about each and every vehicle we offer. We also need to know at least a little something about the direct competitors to each of our vehicles - people will always ask why ours is better or how it is different.

What’s a typical day of working on the show floor?
We usually work in six hour shifts, unless we're doing a double which can bring the day anywhere between 10-14 hours. (Six hours might not seem like a long time, but you try standing there in 5-inch heels under hot lights answering the same questions over and over while people try to sneak photos of your butt and make snide comments about everything you can imagine. Now think about doing that for 14 hours. Now I'd like to introduce you to my friend, the dirty martini.) Anyway, we get to the show, settle our bags in, change into our torture chamber shoes, grab a coffee immediately before our shifts start. Then we just jump right into the madness: depending on our brand and our job responsibilities, we can be doing anything from presenting a vehicle on a platform with a mic to lead generation to manning the information desk, or even just floating around our display area being available to answer questions.

In recent years, I’ve noticed more men on the show that are closer to spokesperson and stand stander (with colour-coded outfits!) than their usual role of buttoned-down expert or salesman. Are more men becoming “models” or (as Jalopnik calls ‘em) “booth professionals”? Why? Equality or…?
There are lots of male product specialists! I'd say the job is about 2/3 female and 1/3 male overall, but for some manufacturers the mix is more like 50/50, and some 90/10 female. The guys (booth bros?) have the same sort of background that the women do: actors, models, other performers and pro drivers who have a keen interest in cars and don't puke at the thought of speaking in front of a huge crowd. There are more women then men who do this, and I think it will probably stay that way for the foreseeable future. The job was traditionally female, so we already have a larger presence because of that, but a lot of women attend these shows and they just seem to be more comfortable talking to another woman. I think attendees assume any guy in a suit at the display is a salesperson and therefor to be avoided, so sometimes even the men who think a "booth babe" can't possibly know more than they do about cars will come to us instead of the guy. Plus, the guys really moan about wearing the stilettos. ; )

Why do you think women and cars are paired together so often?
People, male or female, are naturally drawn to things that are aesthetically pleasing. A beautiful car and a beautiful woman in front of a beautiful vista is much nicer to look at than a beautiful car with some snaggletoothed, unwashed hillbilly draped across the hood in a ghetto parking lot. I'm sure there's also some sort of subtext along the lines of "Which is faster, the sports car or the babe laying on it?" At the auto show it's all about getting people into your display and keeping them there. Beautiful cars and beautiful product specialists might get people into the display, but our approachability and most importantly our knowledge keep them there.

Learn how to drive

So as it turns out, I'm not just pissed off at the auto show. I'm pissed off behind the wheel, too. Hmmm, this ire does seem to be all auto-related...

Anyway:

Oh my f-ing god people, can you please learn how to drive?

The things I see on the road every day are horrifying and appalling. I truly have no idea how nearly all of you get your fat a$$es from McDonalds to the bowling alley without killing yourselves and everyone on the road with you.

I just love it when I see people swerving, cutting others off, driving too slow, driving too fast and generally being menaces while on their cell phones. That's my favorite. I also love the parents who are turned all the way around in the drivers seat to yell at their kids while barreling down the highway at 70 MPH, the teenagers reaching down to the floor of the passenger side to grab their fallen iPods (I know a girl that died doing this; she swerved into oncoming traffic and was hit head-on by a semi), the scaredy cats going a whopping 2 miles over the speed limit who slam on their brakes at the first hint of a Crown Vic.

Red light runners, people who leave their blinkers on for eight miles after they turn, people who don't use their blinkers when changing lanes, Unnecessary Trucks straddling two lanes, slow cars in left lane, motorcyclist splitting lanes (I don't care if it's legal where you live, it's stupid), tailgaters, and especially the people that weave in and out of traffic, racing up to the next car, panting on my bumper to wait for the chance to gain one car length, then do it again to the next guy.

Look d-bag, I don't drive slow. Unless you've bought me dinner get off my a$$.

And god help you if you're confronted with a traffic circle. I have seen people thrown into full-blown panic attacks trying to figure these things out. It's a f-ing circle with yield signs, people. If you don't know how to handle a yield sign (which, by the way, was on your drivers license test) then you shouldn't be on public roads.

So when you come to the auto show and talk about how you would either A) drive the sh!t out of this car or B) run circles around this car in whatever POS you currently drive I know that 9 times out of 10 you're a moron who will be lucky to make it out of the convention center parking lot in one piece.

A narcissist's manifesto

I'm often accused here of being completely self-involved, vain, shallow and full of myself. (I am never accused of this offline, by the way. Not to my face, at least.) I have wondered more than once - pretty much every day, actually - if I would be accused of the same sins were I a male product specialist writing the exact same observations, replacing the male pervs with female.

I don't think I would. In fact, I think the male readers who currently bemoan my attitude would be sending me internet high-fives.

Justine Musk (soon-to-be ex-wife of Tesla head Elon Musk) offered the following observation on her own blog, Moschus:

"The attitude seems to be that personal, confessional blogging ('female' blogging) is narcissistic, and authority blogging ('male' blogging) is not.

Personal blogging takes the blogger's own life and turns it into narrative. Stories.

Authority blogging establishes the blogger as an 'authority' in some particular niche, and relates information that (theoretically) solves a problem the reader might have or teaches something that the reader wants to know. An authority blogger usually has a product or service to sell you."

The designation of 'female' blogging and 'male' blogging is more one of attitude than actual gender.

This blog has always been meant to be both confessional and authoritative. I'm writing my personal experiences from the standpoint of an expert in the field - someone who has never done my job could never write about it, just as I could never pen a blog about nonexistent experiences working in an ER. Is it self-indulgent? I don't see how. I don't get any real-life attention from this since I must remain anonymous. I don't post photos of myself posed enticingly next to vehicles, fishing for compliments.

So I'm not sure where a lot of the vitriol comes from. Is it because I take the occasional shot that bruises the fragile male ego? Is it because a certain type of male can't reconcile the idea of an attractive female who has no sexual interest in him actually being intelligent? Is it because they recognize themselves in the types of creeps I call out here?

Probably a combination, and more. The human psyche is so terribly complicated.

Anyway, I'm not going to apologize for what I write. There are a lot of a$$holes at auto shows. I write about them. The end. If you recognize a piece of yourself in anything I've ever written, my advice to you is that instead of trying to tear me down, you spend that time and energy: A) applying multiple layers of deodorant, B) learning how to talk to a woman respectfully while looking her in the EYES, and C) putting in some quality time on the treadmill.

While you're doing that, I'll be writing. Cheers!

Smile!

“Smile!” you say, leering at me, usually with a camera in hand. “It can’t be that bad!”

No, despite your rank breath it is not that bad - you just happened to catch me at the one millisecond of my day that I thought maybe someone wasn’t staring at me, waiting for me to be less than perfect so they could call me out on it. It is my job to smile, to “spin and grin” as we call it, and I do it gladly. I like my job, as I’ve said before; it isn’t brain surgery, it pays well and I like cars so I’m interested in the material.

What I am not interested in is smiling on cue because you told me to. Despite being a spokesmodel, I am not, in fact, a dancing monkey. No really, look it up - the two are not actually the same thing. I smile because it is my job, true, but just because you happened to catch me taking a whopping five seconds of my day trying to rest my face (fake smiling hurts after a while) does not mean you can be boring. And telling me to smile like that is one of the most boring things I hear all day.

I’d like to see you smile for 10 hours straight while wearing 5-inch heels on a spinning platform while dirty old (and young) men try to snap pictures up your skirt. I dream of smiling while kicking your camera out of your hand. That’s when I smile.

Seriously, give me five seconds to roll my eyes and pick my nose in peace. (Shut up, you know you do it too.)

I do wish some manufacturer would decide that the pissed off punk demographic is where it's at so I could stand on a platform snarling and giving people the finger. Wouldn't that be a fun job? Especially to those jackoffs who change their kids diapers right in front of me.

Where my mothafathers at?

Dear Toyota Auto Show Performance Team,
Drop the rest of your act. Drop the Sultry Sienna song, Let Your Unnecessary Truck Grow or whatever the hell you're singing, screw the Avalon Lounge act.

If the rest of your auto show brethren must listen to you singing the same songs at high volume over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over for days and weeks at a time for months on end, then next season make it this incredibly awesome one.

Be thankful the client isn't having you do it on top of the flaming spiral of death. Yet. You know it is being considered at some saki-fueled happy hour.

xoxo
The Booth Babe

PS I'll give you 20 bucks. Doooooooo eeeeeeeeeeeet.
PPS You sound great as-is. But THIS. Do it.
PPPS Sorry for two Toyota commercials in a row, but it had to happen.
PPPPS Check out this week's column at TheTruthAboutCars.com: Punch buggy black and blue

If booth babes ran NASCAR...

...there would be kittens for everybody!

I've asked a few guys I know who race in various series (not NASCAR) what, if anything, would be their limit on sponsorships... I always found it hilarious that the oldest guy in NASCAR drove the Viagra car. Would a big tough race car driver drive a sparkly pink Barbie car? The Tampax car? The Valtrex car? Do they really give a sh!t what's written on the hood when they're making money hand-over-fist?

Actors deal with this too. A national commercial can pull in $40-$50,000. I'll pretend I have herpes all day long on television for a $50K paycheck and 3 days work. At the auto show I'm fortunate to represent a brand for which I have a great deal of respect and admiration, but that just happened to be the luck of the draw and my brand could change at any time. I still need a paycheck.

Anyway, with the drivers, the general consensus was the same as with actors: a sponsorship is a sponsorship. They are few and far between, and when you get one you're so damn lucky to have it that you don't care if you're driving the KY Liquibeads Hello Kitty Pocket Vibe cup car, because you're driving a cup car.

But I, for one, would love to see the Talladega Tampax 500.

Interrupt this

Do you have one of those jobs involving long, pointless meetings? I used to and I hated it, so I got myself a cool job instead. Anyway, in one of those meetings, let's say you were in the middle of a presentation, really getting into the meat of your big new idea that's going to save the company millions and earn you a big promotion, when all of a sudden - in the middle of a sentence - some jackass busts in and starts shouting questions at you.

Welcome to every day of my life.

Seriously dude. I am in the middle of my presentation. I am on a spinning platform, trying very hard not to fall on my ass on the incredibly slippery surface, telling you everything there is to know about this car. If you could wait thirty seconds and, oh, I don't know, maybe actually listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth then you'd have the answer to your question. If I don't answer your question during my presentation, I will be more than happy to do so afterwards.

I guarantee during my presentation I will cover horsepower, torque, 0-60, new features for this model year, safety features, any big bells and whistles. I will not make competitor comparisons on the mic, at least not by naming names, and I probably will not say the price on the mic - I find that to be distasteful - but am happy to tell you all about every single trim level there is and line item competitive comparisons when I'm done. STOP YELLING AT ME.

If you had any sense of the definition of polite, you would realize how rude it is to start shouting questions at someone who is clearly in the middle of a presentation. You don't think you're out of line for doing this? Try it at your next work meeting and see what happens. Then let me know how long that unemployment line is.

Is that a tire iron in your pocket or are you happy to see me?

Keep an eye on the red shorts... I think that last woman would actually come with the car if he was buying.

New column at TheTruthAboutCars.com!

Guys, thank you so much for your support of my little blog! I've gained a lot of new readership over the past few days, and I hope you'll all keep coming back for more. And remember, if you have an auto show story you want to share send it to me! I will keep  you totally anonymous.

The ever engaging, informative and funny Bertel Schmitt got in touch with me about a month or so ago and asked if I would write something for this great automotive site The Truth About Cars. They had given me mention in a story or two before and sent quite a few readers my way, and were always very gracious. We kicked around a few ideas this is what has developed:

The Booth Babe Chronicles, a weekly column published Sundays and written by yours truly!

Check out my first piece, a wrap-up of the 2010 auto show season. Hope you like - I'll link to following pieces as they are published. And thank you to TTAC and Bertel for the opportunity!

Too much junk in your trunk

Sometimes I can predict a conversation at the auto show from 20 feet away, long before I ever approach the person. While I learned long ago never to judge a person's station in life by appearance alone (that guy in the dirty work clothes may well drive a Lambo), you can certainly tell a lot about a person by the way they carry themselves and observed behavior.

When I see a large person make a face while climbing in and out of a car, I know this is the first thing they will say to me:

"The seat is too small. You make them smaller every year."

The seat is not too small. The seat is not any smaller than it was last year or five years ago.

The seat is not too small. Your a$$ is too big.

I understand that there are some cars that are, in fact, very small, and have smaller seats, and that sports seating can make a difference. I am not talking about these cars. I am talking about large sedans with some of the biggest, cushiest seats in their class. They are not too small. You are too big. And you keep getting bigger.

If you want to be big, that's your business. I am not here to comment on your struggle with weight loss or why you turn to food to comfort yourself after yet another booth babe shoots down your gross pick up attempt. (Large women rarely make this claim, interestingly. It is always the men.)

But it's time to get honest here. Do not blame my manufacturer for making seats smaller. That is patently ridiculous, and I have the measurements from the past ten years at my fingertips to prove that very point. The seats are not smaller, the dry cleaner did not shrink your pants, you are not "fluffy" or "big boned" and you're not Octomom eating for eight. If the seats in a full sized sedan are too small for you, then A) Please don't sit next to me on a plane and B) You need to stop lying to yourself and placing the blame for your discomfort on everything but the real issue.

Like I said, if you want to be big, go for it. It's your business (until my health insurance premiums go up to compensate for your weight-related illness costs). Don't blame your difficulties functioning in the world on external issues when it is your own body that is holding you back. If you're going to live it, own it.

It's not the seats. It's you.

See, I'm not making this up

A comment came in over the weekend that I decided needed its own post. It is from another booth babe going by the name of "Car People" and backs up some of the stories I've written about here. It also  touches upon a subject I haven't yet: theft and vandalism. Don't worry, I'm getting to that soon.

Here's what this booth babe has to say:

"I can relate to 'Do You Come With the Car?' and while some of the views may seem a bit extreme, an auto show is an extreme environment. I'm sure that there are pro football games that are less intense than an auto show!

In my ten years working in auto shows, I saw tens of thousands of dollars of malicious damage done to cars, and theft of anything that was not nailed down, pop-riveted and spot welded to the floor.

Another challenge was the people who wanted to spend an hour telling you about the time they repaired a puncture on their own Model T Ford (very reminiscent of Grandpa Simpson).

When our security guard caught a guy who had stolen several parts off one of our Mercedes-Benz's he said 'I paid 20 bucks to get in here. I'm entitled to a souvenir.' Our security guard diplomatically replied 'And you're entitled to be introduced to the police so you can show them your great souvenirs.' The guy handed back the stolen stuff and left.

In 1995 as I sat in car with one guy who had perhaps showered once in the 1970's, his B.O. made my eyes water so bad I had to go rinse them for ten minutes afterward.

Taking all that into account, it made me more appreciative of the great people I did meet at auto shows - customers, colleagues and regular people who shared a passion - for cars, technology, design, comfort etc. "

Thanks for sharing your experiences, Car People!

You don't know Roger Penske

There's a slight variation on a conversation I have every day at the auto show. The gist of it is some unattractive aging woman decides to take out her feelings of inadequacy on the auto show models by lording her money and/or connections over us. Most of the time it is a blatant lie; all of the time it is obnoxious.

Another booth babe told me she once had a woman (who was sorely in need of microdermabrasion and the South Beach diet) become super-snotty with her, insisting that the booth babe was wrong about something that she said she knew for a fact was true because Roger Penske himself sold her the vehicle.

Give me a freakin' break, lady. Do you really think anyone believes that Roger Penske, one of the most successful businessmen in the United States, took time out of his incredibly busy schedule of running multiple global enterprises to come down to one of his many car dealerships and personally sell you your car? Yes, I am so sure RP walked the lot with you, took you for a test drive, brought you into that little back room where they wheel and deal on financing then handed you the keys to your new car after raping you on your trade-in. Please name drop some more, ooh, I'm so intimidated.

This morning Howard Schultz poured my Starbucks himself! Then Steve Jobs turned on my MacBook for me, Mark Zuckerberg personally emailed me to let me know my mom updated her Facebook last night and Rex Tillerson pumped my gas. (If you don't know who those guys are maybe you can call up Larry Page and Sergey Brin and ask them to Google it for you.)

And PS - Even if she did know Roger Penske, she was still wrong.

The Art of Racing in the Rain

I read, a lot. I read in airports, on planes, in restaurants, in quiet hotel bars. I read in convention center food courts and tiny, dark back rooms of auto show sets. I read in strange hotel beds, in first class and coach, from sea to shining sea. I read at home with the back door open so I can hear the birds singing -- it relaxes me more.

I read fiction and non-fiction, classic literature and obscure modern writers, comedies, tragedies, coming-of-age tales. I'm not big on courtroom dramas (although I enjoy watching them on TV but not movies). I hate trashy romances. I like books that help me feel better about the human condition, a feeling which often needs repair after a ten-day auto show.

I read real books, books that I can hold in my hand with pages I can turn and paper and ink I can smell. I've toyed with the idea of getting a Kindle or an iPad because it sure would make my carry-on a lot lighter, but I like real books. I like the way they feel in my hands and the way they look on a bookshelf. Few things tell more about a person than what's in his bookshelf or the condition of her garage. Always investigate those two before investing in a friendship.

Last night I began reading The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. This morning, at 3 AM, I finished it. I'm a sucker for dogs (any animals really, anthropomorphized or not) and stories of triumph over adversity. Plus, hello, hot fast cars! 

You must. READ. THIS. BOOK.

Here's the thing about life: it often sucks. People are mean a$$holes, jobs are lost, people you love die, houses burn down, kids are ungrateful, your underwear is too tight, you paid $10 to get into the auto show but are not allowed to sit in the Ferrari. You have unrealized dreams. Do you want to sit around and whine about the injustice of it all, or do you want to do something about it? Do you want the car to drive you, or do you want to drive the car?

Life isn't about what you can't do, it's about what you CAN do. And sometimes you have to fight through all the "can't" people to get to the "can"s. Actually, in my experience 95% of the time you have to do this. It's exhausting, but such is life. Most people either give up sometime in their 20's or never start at all, giving up on their dreams either out of complacency or simply because they have no one to believe in them. 

Maybe they just need a good dog. 

 Read more about The Art of Racing in the Rain at Garth Stein's website.

Kidnapping jokes are not funny

Sometimes people's attempts to be funny fall flat. We've all been there. Just ask Steve Martin about his Toyota joke at the Oscars the other night - nary a giggle. Sometimes a joke is just not funny, even when it is meant to be.

And sometimes a joke is just downright creepy and frightening.

I was at a show a couple of months ago and having a lovely conversation with a visitor who was asking relevant questions about one of the vehicles on display. His cell phone rang and he excused himself to answer it, but did not step away.

His end of the conversation:
"I'm talking to the girl at the auto show. No, I haven't taken her out to the parking lot. Yet."

Yup, color me totally freaked out. I'm sure it was a joke (I hope it was a joke), but in my line of work, that kind of "joke" is scary.

Here's what we need you guys to understand. We're women traveling alone. Yes, sometimes there are men with us, but there are generally more women than men and I've worked plenty of shows with no male counterparts in attendance on my team. We're staying in strange hotels in strange cities with which we're not very familiar. The closest thing we have to bodyguards are the dealer staff who sometimes work the show and can be more odd than the visitors. The crack security teams in these places are a joke -- half are gray-haired grandpas and the other half aren't paying any attention to us because they are stoned. Now, I took a self-defense class and I know how to stay aware of my surroundings, etc., but still, if someone really wants to grab you, he can find a way.

One of the main booth babe talent agencies stopped using a certain hotel in Detroit because one of the girls was attacked on a supposedly secure floor. Yes, things like this can happen anywhere, but hotel management refused to heighten security by checking room keys before allowing elevator access. That move cost them about $100,000 a year in bookings, I'd estimate.

I'm hearing that another booth babe was drugged at the hotel bar in Detroit this year. Luckily her friends were keeping a close eye on each other and were able to take care of her before the guy slipped her out.

So please understand, your insensitive jokes about kidnapping us are not funny. If you are making us uncomfortable, we don't have to talk to you.