The Delete Button

Every now and then, I find myself hunched over the laptop keyboard looking like a gigantic ‘C’ from Sesame Street, inches away from the screen like I was panning for gold, wondering, “I really need to get out of the house.” Yes, part of networking is actually going out and talking to people. Email has become so impersonal that you can never have that wonderful human contact that speaks volume. When you are actually speaking to someone, they can’t hit the delete button (although, if you had the super power of mind reading, you might come across some folks who wish they did have a delete button).

So recently, I found myself at a BBQ, surrounded by folks with alcohol in hand and burgers on flowery paper plates, ready to launch my own autobiography to anyone who would listen; and hopefully they would not hit the delete key. Well, the damn Universe which I have spoken about so harshly in other post’s, was up to his old tricks again. The Universe also put an alcoholic drink in my hand as well.

Nicely played, Universe.

Well, instead of talking about possible employment or job leads, the World Cup was a captivating conversation (grown men running and kicking a ball) as well as the status of my next oil change in my truck (riveting, I know). And the evil drink that the Universe Bartender supplied me was putting me in la-la land (good ole Sam Adams).

Curse you Universe.

I know that this has to be all part of the hazing ritual from the Universe, but those patriotic beers were going down, well, like patriotic beers at a BBQ. And the next morning (actually, afternoon) I went and got the oil changed in my truck while I watched the World Cup on the TV in the ‘lounge’ (I wouldn’t exactly call it a ‘lounge’ with the torn vinyl seats and last year’s Motor Trend magazine laying around but that’s what they called it). It was at that point I wish I had my own delete key.

I will see you again, Universe.