So here’s a quick glimpse into what my life is like.
Saturday night a few weekends ago. I’m at a bar. Well, it’s technically Sunday morning, like 1, 2 am. My friends and I all notice an older man walk in wearing, like, a miniature leather safari hat. That’s the best way I can explain it. We look, we chuckle, we move on with our mozzarella sticks and assorted bar grub.
A few minutes later, I’m in line waiting for the bathroom and he just so happens to be hanging out by the door. The fact that he was just casually hanging out by the bathroom door, I think, is a good indication of this man’s level of oddness/ridiculousness. Anyway, I’m doin the pee-pee dance and walks over to me, because this is a GREAT time for conversation, apparently.
He goes through the standard motions. Hi, how are you, what’s your name, are you single, can we be friends, I just want to be your friend, COME ON LET’S PLEASE JUST BE FRIENDS, etc. Eventually the bathroom opens up and I dive in to end this conversation, because he clearly wasn’t in the market for any of the polite rejection I was offering him. I kind of even though he took a few steps behind me, so I shot him the look of death and was like “UM, GOOD NIGHT, PLEASE.” I potty, I leave, I re-join my group, I soon forget him.
I forget him, that is, until he stops past my table and mutters something about “If you change your mind…” and plops a business card down on the table in front of me. I’m really irritated. Because, like, who do you think you are?? You do NOT get to force your phone number into my life! I already said no! You don’t get to make this decision for me, I’m grown! I take the card, without looking at it, and hold it up in his direction trying to give it back, but he just walks off. I, never to be outdone with dramatics, open my fingers slowly and let it flutter to the ground like so many snowflakes in a beautiful kamikaze crash to imminent death.
Some time later, I’m in line waiting for a drink at the bar (which was right next to our table) and I see the card laying on the ground, face down. Something—some force, I don’t know what it was or what to call it—told me to pick that card up and look at it. So I do. And I see this.
…I have so many questions and comments and questions.
- 1. Why isn’t your last name on your business card?
2. What the hell kind of business is this, anyway? What are you CEO of?
3. Oh, I see you’re in sales. Or, wait.. sells?
4. How are you CEO of anything when you can’t spell “sales” correctly?!”
5. WTF DO YOU EVEN SELL?? WHAT KIND OF BUSINESS IS THIS, SIR?!
6. Do you sell bibles? Because that’s the only way this come-to-Jesus text on your business card could be a clever marketing strategy or good idea.
7. Seriously, WHAT ARE YOU PRETENDING TO BE CEO OF??
8. Which of your children made your Word Art logo for you back in 1996?
9. No. Just no.
Like, I just can’t deal with this. I don’t have the strength.
Needless to say, I Marcus did not get a little bit of a piece of a phone call from me.
Lulz sike, I called him the next day and now I’m pregnant with his kids. Like 7 of them.