Going over the key presentation points in
my head, I stepped back from the urinal and attempted to zip up my pants. It was at that very moment that my
evening suddenly went from bad to worse.
The Stress-O-Meter, already elevated given the expectation of the
evenings confrontational festivities, reached all new heights. While the
portion of the zipper tab that I held moved freely, it no longer served the
purpose for which it was intended, and refused to join both halves of the
zipper together. Now, at the best
of times, this is not a pleasant situation, yet there I was, an hour away from
home, about to stand alone in front of 50 plus unfriendly people, with a broken
zipper. I slowly looked up at
myself in the mirror, and thought… “Oh no!”
I quickly made my way back to my car to see
what quick repair options might be available to me. Frantically searching, I had no safety pins, thread, or
anything overly useful. Sigh… of course
I didn’t. I’ve never stared at a
paperclip with such intensity, trying to figure out what assistance it could
possibly provide. Even a stapler
would have been a welcomed discovery, alas, I had nothing. With time ticking away, and options
dwindling, all I could do was see if I could somehow get the zipper to latch
on, so I refocused my efforts.
Head down, hands working on my zipper, car shaking in frustration, and a
single bead of sweat running down my forehead, my car windows began to fog
up. Realizing what this scene may
look like to an innocent passerby, and with only 3 minutes left to spare before
I was expected to speak, I had no choice but to stop, and admit defeat. With a deep sigh, I thought about how
badly I just wanted to go home.
Armed with nothing but my black leather
notebook, I wiped my brow, stood up, and walked back into the meeting
room. Trying to rebuild my
confidence, I began scanning my surroundings, and quickly noticed there was no
podium to stand behind. Sigh… of
course there wasn’t.
So I slowly walked up to the presentation
stage, all the while calculating the viewing angles of the audience, and stood
in front of them trying to disguise how uncomfortable I truly was. Using the shielding provided by my
black leather notebook, I maintained various standing positions throughout the
duration of my presentation. One
hand on the notebook in front of crotch, the other hand in pocket. One hand on the notebook in front of
crotch, the other hand waving the laser pointer. Both hands on the notebook in front of crotch, body swaying
awkwardly. Oh it was
horrible. As I explained the
intricacies of the proposed building designs, planning rationale, and how this
medium density residential development would positively impact the surrounding
neighbourhood, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to go home, and
whether or not anyone noticed my “situation”. I maintained eye contact with the audience, and expected
them to do the same.
Fortunately for me, though unfortunate in
the grand scheme of things, the NIMBY-minded attendees of this meeting had
already made up their minds that they did not like this proposal before I had even
arrived, so maintaining eye contact was not a problem, as they attempted to
shoot daggers at me with their seething glances. After an hour of responding to unjustified and misguided
criticisms and questions, the meeting ended, and I quickly made my escape.
Back in my car and finally heading for
home, I reflected on the evening’s events, replayed what was said in my mind, and
rightly or wrongly reassured myself that it didn’t go as badly as it could
have. Relieved, and enjoying the
added ventilation resulting from having my pants wide open during the return drive,
I decided to stop for a quick bite – drive-thru of course. As I sat in the darkened parking lot
eating my burger, my cell phone rang.
It was a co-worker.
“Hey Dave, are you still out in the Niagara
area?” he asked. I reluctantly
replied “Yes”, knowing exactly what he was about to ask me. “Oh great! Since you’re out there, can you stop in at that other Public
Meeting out near the airport?
Something’s come up and I’m not going to be able to make it.” Sigh… of course you can’t. He then proceeded to give me the
address of the banquet hall, and rather than opening myself up to ridicule by
admitting the particular challenges I was facing that evening, I said “Sure,
I’ll go”.
So off I went, and again faced the public
in my somewhat compromised state.
Upon entering the banquet hall, I soon ran into a bunch of industry
people I knew. Sigh… of course I
did. So I shook hands, and
exchanged pleasantries, all the while maintaining my left hand firmly on my
trusty black leather notebook. Not
long after, figuring I’d made my appearance, visited with the people I needed
to visit with, and not wanting to press my luck any further, I exited the
building. Finally, I was going
home.
As it was fairly dark by the time I pulled
into my driveway, and none of the neighbours were outdoors as far as I could
tell, I didn’t worry too much about covering myself up as I walked from my car
and into the house. Closing the
door shut behind me, I yelled “I’m home!”, with Leia arriving shortly thereafter
to greet me. “How was your day?”
she asked. Without saying a word,
I removed my jacket, stood in front of her, and looked down to my broken
zipper. Her eyes followed mine,
and then she burst out laughing. Not
just a little chuckle, or even a hearty laugh. No, this was an all-out gut-busting, teary eyed, roll around
on the ground laughter, solely at my expense. As I briefed her on the details of my evening, her laugher
only grew, causing her to periodically gasp for air. I looked into her watery eyes and reddened face, I thought
to myself, “Ahhh, it’s good to be home.”
Good ole Leia!!!
ReplyDeleteIt's hard to find a silver lining in a story like this and even harder to turn it into a fantastic blog post. You're a great sport and Leia sounds like fun, too!
ReplyDeleteYup, that Leia, she's a keeper :)
ReplyDelete