The Apple of My Eye

A Fool Such as I

January 2010.

I wasn't branch manager anymore, but I still worked in the same place, only in a different office. Not only was it different, it was bigger and I had a large window now, too. And it was the last office at the end of the hall, so that made it pretty fucking exclusive in that you had to walk all the way past the other offices in order to talk to me. Fuck yeah.

As the new year rolled in, corporate was putting together this conference of sorts, where executives and creatives from all around the country—and some from the few offices we had abroad—got together in this big ass ballroom for a three-day extravaganza. In all honesty, the annual soiree consisted of some of the world's most tedious lectures, plenary sessions, award ceremonies for the previous year's outstanding performances, and all sorts of shit. But this thing was a mammoth jamboree that only our most important professionals and clients were invited to attend.

Well, guess what? This year I would be making my debut as guest, what with me being the newly appointed regional supervisor and all. Quite frankly, I thought the whole thing sucked balls, but regardless of how I felt about going, it was undeniable that the grass on my side of the fence was finally starting to look greener.

As it turned out, you couldn't bring any guests to the event, which was just as well, because who was I going to invite, right? Only those of us who had some kind of affiliation with the company, and had the invite to prove it, of course, were supposed to attend. Men were told to wear semi-formal attire, which to me meant I was going to have to really take it up a notch. I dressed smart, don't get me wrong, but I almost never dressed up, and I never wore a suit and tie except to weddings and funerals, so this felt like another first for me. It was all happening so fast, I remember thinking.

Although I was a guest, which by definition meant that showing up at all was optional, let the records show that my attendance was sort of mandatory. I had just been made regional supervisor, so what message would I be sending out to my superiors if I simply didn't turn up? No big deal, I went to the thing, of course I did. I was happy to. If nothing else, it would be an opportunity to raise my visibility, to get to know people from other areas of the company and from branches in other cities as well. And if I got lucky, I might even get to have some fun, so what the heck, right?

Most of the women in attendance were in the cougar category, which to me meant they were in their thirties and up. They all looked very elegant, smelled fantastic, and were sort of on the hunt. Several cougars, however, were only platonically on the hunt: they were among the cream of the crop, the very important people, the shareholders and investors, you know the type. And most were there with their husbands, too. (Which goes to say they probably weren't cougars in the traditional sense except in my head.) Some were regrettably overweight, others looked like they had applied their makeup with a paintball gun, while a few fell in both groups.

Some of the women looked like the kind who might be on the rebound, you know, emotionally vulnerable, and not very bold in terms of initiative. These were always nice to have around. If, by the end of the night, I still hadn't closed a deal with anyone younger and more attractive, there would always be a couple of rebound girls in sight. With any luck, they would probably be a little plastered, too, so that would sort of make the whole process easier.

The younger, more attractive girls were fewer, yes, but easy to locate, because they often walked around in packs. They were almost never with any guys, which was good, but when they were, they were in the deplorable position of being their bosses' dates for the night, which will always be uncool to me.

I wasn't out to get anyone, seriously. I just wanted to enjoy myself and make the whole experience as painless and trouble-free as possible. I hung out with Danielle Peazer and her corporate entourage on the first evening, you know, to make sure I was seen in good company and all. On the other two evenings, though, I allowed myself to roam free. I'd talk to people here and there, but never for more than five, maybe ten minutes, at which time I'd make up some excuse or other and get away from them to go back to pacing the floor some more. It's a big world out there, right?