I’m Working

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I know, from bitter experience, that when I admit a big part of my job is going to parties, I am in for a load of snark. It’s not that I’m laying claim to a high life at Studio 54, luring disco dollies to a life of vice, still, just try connecting the word party with your job description and anyone you’re speaking to will immediately layer on the grief. Thickly.

Maybe I should be clearer in my definitions. These “parties” are not gala events, full of high spirits and laughs. They are networking events for businesses, organized solely for entrepreneurs to trade business cards and try to make connections that will lead to sales, or deals, or some benefit for them. It’s work. It may look like a party, it may walk like a party, it may have an open bar, but it’s work.

When I was shoved into this job, from a quiet backwater of personnel, I had to train myself to walk into large crowds of strangers and start introducing myself, explain what my agency does, and shovel out my business cards like a human vending machine. I was amazed to find out I’m good at it, but over the years my amazement has turned into a kind of horror. This is my one big talent?

So this week is our celebration in San Francisco of the national Small Business Week. Because of that I have 28 events, parties, networkers, make contacts, seminars, panels, workshops, you name it that I have to attend and be Little Miss Small Business. We’re about halfway through and the biggest parties are behind me, yay. If my voice doesn’t give out (I’m already hoarse and sound remarkably like a bad imitation of Kathleen Turner) I’ll be fine. I can already see Friday night and the last party glimmering in the distance.

Hi, I’m mrpeenee. I work for somebody or the other. Do you have my card?

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

4 responses »

  1. It could be worse, caro – it could be two perfectly glamourous words jammed together to make the single most boring phenomenon this side of Wagner: “diplomatic receptions”.

    Like

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