business card mambo
There is just something about selling things that makes me think of sniveling shit-eating pale human beings with clammy hands clutching business cards. It makes me sick to think about selling anything with any kind of conviction.
Enter my job: I don't actually have to sell anything per se, save maybe myself, and "networking" wouldn't hurt, as I'm constantly reminded. I am, for all practical purposes, Mr. Wizard- big curtain, little discussion, check-out-the-facade-it's-lovely kinda thing. Most people don't like having to answer to some blonde twerp, and that's fine. I'm half their age and in a position to make demands, as I see it: lucky me, sucks from them. I could care less if my business acquaintances don't like me, or if they never know I'm half their age, 'cause as long as they never see me they won't know the difference. They see the website, reasonable business conversation follows.
Networking is the devil. I hate the memorized jargon that I have to regurgitate out of convenience when a business question is tossed my way by some strange/potential client. I hate facebook, I hate LinkedIn... the list goes on. Most of all, I hate being stopped on the mountain by someone to ask me about my backpack (which yes, I am selling), because inevitably I will give the same few lines of praise, hand over a business card, and try to escape without feeling like a door-to-door carpetbagger. I do this without chagrin, because I want to keep my job, but a little of me dies every time I open my fat mouth.
Getting up at 9:45 on a week day is so worth a shit-kicker grin and 100% Post Consumer Recycled Waste business card in hand. Then on the other hand, if this business takes off, I'll need to be able to schmooze in an affective way. Wah-Wah *TV uh-oh sound effect* My idea of schmoozing at corporate functions involves smoking a bowl in my car, stealing champagne and avoiding small talk. Some business person I make.
Whatever, being able to answer mindless questions was not in my job description. At least I have a job. I complain too much. I can't be anti-establishment if I'm going to pay rent-Get off the boat or shut up.
Enter my job: I don't actually have to sell anything per se, save maybe myself, and "networking" wouldn't hurt, as I'm constantly reminded. I am, for all practical purposes, Mr. Wizard- big curtain, little discussion, check-out-the-facade-it's-lovely kinda thing. Most people don't like having to answer to some blonde twerp, and that's fine. I'm half their age and in a position to make demands, as I see it: lucky me, sucks from them. I could care less if my business acquaintances don't like me, or if they never know I'm half their age, 'cause as long as they never see me they won't know the difference. They see the website, reasonable business conversation follows.
Networking is the devil. I hate the memorized jargon that I have to regurgitate out of convenience when a business question is tossed my way by some strange/potential client. I hate facebook, I hate LinkedIn... the list goes on. Most of all, I hate being stopped on the mountain by someone to ask me about my backpack (which yes, I am selling), because inevitably I will give the same few lines of praise, hand over a business card, and try to escape without feeling like a door-to-door carpetbagger. I do this without chagrin, because I want to keep my job, but a little of me dies every time I open my fat mouth.
Getting up at 9:45 on a week day is so worth a shit-kicker grin and 100% Post Consumer Recycled Waste business card in hand. Then on the other hand, if this business takes off, I'll need to be able to schmooze in an affective way. Wah-Wah *TV uh-oh sound effect* My idea of schmoozing at corporate functions involves smoking a bowl in my car, stealing champagne and avoiding small talk. Some business person I make.
Whatever, being able to answer mindless questions was not in my job description. At least I have a job. I complain too much. I can't be anti-establishment if I'm going to pay rent-Get off the boat or shut up.