The morning started at 4:20 in the morning as Jackson Browne sang about someone else's girlfriend on the 80s station that propels me out of bed every morning. I can't believe that anyone would want to hear New Wave that early in the morning, but there it was. Seconds later, however, I was no longer among the tens of listeners. I'd shut the alarm off and headed to the shower. Convincing myself that it wasn't really as early as the clock seemed to indicate, I slowly woke up under the hot water and shampoo suds.

The last bit of packing occurred after all the bathroom prep. I had a glass of juice and some oatmeal (the bosses told me that no one gets fed on flights anymore--in truth I never remember a time when they did), and my roommate stumbled around and tried to convince himself that it was only a dream that he had to take me to the airport.

There were no troubles going through the check-in. The line moved quickly, and I was asked if anyone I didn't know had access to my luggage. The logic of the question cannot be questioned itself (why would anyone--much less after the events of last fall--let someone they didn't know mess around with their luggage?), so I merely said no and the clerk nodded, not even looking at me to see if I was giving away a lie.

Security came sooner than usual, probably making many of the merchants who dwell farther back into the airport much poorer as they cannot tempt the people waiting to pick friends/family/business associates up from a flight anymore. I was waved through. Encouraged to move on, even, so they could strip search and wand other potential passengers. Apparently I am not in the profile--or the direct opposite of the profile. I am in the middle. Safe. A non-threat, even though I confessed to others later that I was carrying a lighter and a couple books of matches (just in case, which is why I also carry condoms all the time).

The flights were fine. They served peanuts and drinks, which is all I ever thought airplanes served anyway. Both flights were ahead of schedule, and we made it into beautiful San Jose, California, on an overcast day. The ocean was not in view. The suburb of other suburbs of San Francisco. I immediately knew I had not found the magical city I'd been looking for all my life.

The company I work for works for Intel (among other large name clients), and I am on the Intel account. Which is the real reason I got to get up so early to make the red-eye flight. This was actually a bonus, in a way, since I never get to go anywhere. In over two years, I'd only taken one other trip. The Intel campus (they call it this so everyone still feels young and like they are learning, I think) sits in the middle of a large conglomeration of other high tech campuses. Nortel is across the street. Sun has a building down the block. IBM has buildings a little bit farther down the freeway. And there were about three large office buildings that used to house other high tech start ups a few years ago and now offer "400,000 square feet" or "entire third floor" to any company that wants to move into a three-year-old building only used for a year or so.

I was not so high on my job before I went on this trip. A little miffed about money, actually, and a couple of coworkers I'd grown close to are leaving. Add to that a few new mandates from upper management, and I'd been cultivating a growing discomfort with my work environment. But all of that was nothing compared to the people working at Intel.

They knew how long they'd been at the company down to the hour. They talked about having to stay for two years so they didn't have to pay the "displacement expenses" they received to move to the Santa Clara area when they got hired. They barely mentioned stock options, which had become somewhat insulting in this soft market (that and they'd have to stay six years to vest the options, and most could not conceive of staying that long). The building was floors upon floors of cubicles. Gray everywhere except for strips of color near the top of the ceiling so you could tell which floor you were on. There were numbers on the support pillars so you could tell where you parked your ass every day.

Suddenly I was happy about my job. Happy I can look out of the window and see all the way across Albuquerque to the volcanoes on the west side of town. Happy I don't have to show up at 7:30 a.m. on a regular basis. Happy I don't have to wear security badges. Happy my bosses know my name.

I had nothing to do at all on the trip. I wasn't leading any discussions, and I barely had a reason to speak. My job, I think, was to add a little weight to our contingent and put names with faces.

The food was great; I won't eat that well again for years. It was rather unstressful on my part, although I did get a little lecture about staying awake during the meetings. And, most of all, I got a little perspective and appreciation for what I have. Which is good sometimes. Sometimes I can be a bit of a bitch.

Matt Worley ate $50 meals for two nights and didn't even have to throw down a tip.