If someone could tell my urinary system that it is 3:21am that would be great. /Office Space
Did you know I’m going to Vegas next month and it’s furthest thing from my mind at this point just because of the amount of work before I get to The Mirage. Usually I can’t sleep knowing in under 30 days I would walk with the unwashed masses in my red and white baseball pajama bottoms at 3am with a hot chocolate in one hand and a clutch of paper slot slips with amounts under one United States dollar in the other watching a slew of workers vacuum the floors while hookers try for one last easy for the night.
I’m never that trick, I’ve never been approached.
Maybe because I would be more interested in hear their story versus a sloppy lay and getting rolled with a side of possible divorce. I know there’s cab confessionals and other chronicles of these ladies of the night, but don’t the best stories come out when the author and/or characters are stripped bare?
I know mine do as I was thrown naked in front of a governance board yesterday about some access that someone requested for me 6 months ago and didn’t show up for the six person meeting to discuss it. We won’t mention I was seeing stars half the day from being so overly tired or barely making out “what do you think Dave?” through the grainy sounds of a conference call.
And people wonder why I don’t like status meetings and interviews. I like to do, not talk about it. I can’t explain my job or writing style any more than why I can throw a bag filled with corn 27 feet away through a 6” diameter hole with accuracy after a full night of sailing with rum and beers with funny names.
Just do it. Not for Phil Knight but yourself.