Open House, Open Hell
It's a beautiful Saturday and I'm stuck at work, half-assedly manning our company's open house for wholesale buyers. Nobody's here; there's like a 3:1 ratio of company staff to open house guests.
I hate boring parties. Imagine how many of these types of events you'd have to suffer through if you were important or famous--all of the agonizing small talk, the mediocre hours d'oeurves, the glasses of red or white wine. How come there's never beer at these things, huh? Maybe some day I'll host an open house with a keg. For now, I can hide upstairs in my office desk area and dick off on my blog. It's even better than having an emergency book. (Always travel with an emergency book or magazine. I like to keep one in my handbag for waiting rooms and long checkout lines at the grocery store.)
This is all in conjunction with the NASFT (The National Association for the Specialty Food Trade) Fancy Food Show in San Francisco this weekend. Our company is one of the five billion exhibitors there. I got to see the Fancy Food show poised for action yesterday when some co-workers and I went on a three-hour errand to drop off 24 gallons of milk at the convention center where that show is held. Said 5 billion exhibitors were still in the midst of setting up but had gone back to their hotel rooms for the day, and the massive, multi-floor show room was eerily vacant, save for teamsters zipping around in forklifts.
I can only imagine what the show will be like once it's going full-force: one throbbing, swollen, pulsing gland of pure, cut-throat commerce. Deals made, deals broken. Thousands of pounds of salty snacks, day-glo candy, freeze-dried conveniences, and hopped-up novelty spirits passing through lips and into bloated bellies. Sales reps on the prowl, crouching behind their booths like hunters zeroing the cross-hairs of their guns in on browsing buyers. Vipers ready to strike. Permanently fixed toothy white smiles and constant chains of handshakes.
I suck at that kind of stuff. I'm a natural-born anti-mingler. I like to do work that's less about dealing and more about real work--moving stuff around, preparing gallons of pasta sauce, that sort of thing
Busted!
I hate boring parties. Imagine how many of these types of events you'd have to suffer through if you were important or famous--all of the agonizing small talk, the mediocre hours d'oeurves, the glasses of red or white wine. How come there's never beer at these things, huh? Maybe some day I'll host an open house with a keg. For now, I can hide upstairs in my office desk area and dick off on my blog. It's even better than having an emergency book. (Always travel with an emergency book or magazine. I like to keep one in my handbag for waiting rooms and long checkout lines at the grocery store.)
This is all in conjunction with the NASFT (The National Association for the Specialty Food Trade) Fancy Food Show in San Francisco this weekend. Our company is one of the five billion exhibitors there. I got to see the Fancy Food show poised for action yesterday when some co-workers and I went on a three-hour errand to drop off 24 gallons of milk at the convention center where that show is held. Said 5 billion exhibitors were still in the midst of setting up but had gone back to their hotel rooms for the day, and the massive, multi-floor show room was eerily vacant, save for teamsters zipping around in forklifts.
I can only imagine what the show will be like once it's going full-force: one throbbing, swollen, pulsing gland of pure, cut-throat commerce. Deals made, deals broken. Thousands of pounds of salty snacks, day-glo candy, freeze-dried conveniences, and hopped-up novelty spirits passing through lips and into bloated bellies. Sales reps on the prowl, crouching behind their booths like hunters zeroing the cross-hairs of their guns in on browsing buyers. Vipers ready to strike. Permanently fixed toothy white smiles and constant chains of handshakes.
I suck at that kind of stuff. I'm a natural-born anti-mingler. I like to do work that's less about dealing and more about real work--moving stuff around, preparing gallons of pasta sauce, that sort of thing
Busted!
posted by Lefty at 3:05 PM
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