… of the chimp faced man, George W. Bush.  Assess the intentionality of his family’s complicity in violent acts of global warming from the destruction of oil fields in Kuwait, to the SUV craze at the turn of the century.  Capture a nucleic acid sequence from the maternal T cells, and mix with eye of Newt.  Shake, do not stir, and shake that thing again.  Sell esquimaux air conditioners long.

Ask again if global warming itself will further the imperialist ambition by opening new frontiers for exploitation of the mineral resources in the polar regions.  Encourage carbon conversion to greenhouse gases and invest heavily in upland real estate.

A second tier management consulting firm contacted me. They are looking for a project executive in Madison. “The project executive will need to be able to establish the structure and manage a multi-million dollar, multi-year initiative…” and so forth. Really they’re looking for a rain maker. They haven’t won that business yet, and if they do, the project executive will need to be pounding the pavement and pressing the flesh in an effort to shovel ever more contracts into the gaping maw of Moloch.

Wait. Somewhere my professional perspective slipped for a moment. No demons there, no Canaanite deities looking for human sacrifice. Just a few people trying to get by… I told them I was not a rain maker. Then to seal the not-a-deal, I dummied up. I forgot about similar efforts I’ve engaged in, modest successes…. In short, I couldn’t find the spizz to toot my own horn. Horn tootage was what they were after. I couldn’t play that tune with them even if they’d hummed a few bars for me.

They asked me how I thought of myself… as a solution creator, a demand creator, an integration leader, or a client service provider. They lost me at “or.”
When professionals gather, why does the air go out of the room? What is this thing about how we all have to behave like Samurai and scowl and say “Hai!” a lot? Why can’t we loosen the fuck up?

Bottom line, no offer was or would be forth-coming, and I felt really bad about that. I felt like I wanted the offer, even though I hadn’t asked for the opportunity. Once they had seen my shining light, I thought, there should be no reason for them to do anything but strew palm fronds and greenback dollars in my path.

It’s possible that I didn’t sell myself well, because I know how easily I can be bought, and damned if I wanted to work with a bunch of stiffs. When we parted it was the typical “Don’t call us, we’ll call you,” and I wanted to scream, “You did call me you buncha rack-racka-growly-monkey penises.”

All of which goes to the point of professionalism I guess. It’s about going after the win every time and sorting out the trophys later.