alumni

It's a couple hours now long gone since a can-I-handle. I handled and came out successful. As successful as. Here at a desk I am starting two things: Saturday Night Fever and this entry, of course. John Travolta is running with a can of paint. And now he just gave her a discount.

I am back home. Like I know it's too much of a comfort zone after surveying a floor of em-ploy-ors. Marking who else just might not want to introduce themselves.

I had to make a game out of the scene. I was parked a quarter mile away. Could have brought my set of two wheels and coasted from the outer rim - I think it was a dead end - of the bowl to the Ohio Union.

After one round up and down I just left and sat in a chair across from a young man maybe a couple years younger than me. On a phone call he said he would return to make sure he didn't miss anyone. My roster had some circles of tables I would eventually approach.

I sat on deck at the Columbus Dispatch. What was her name without looking at her card? She donned some curious eyebrows like she didn't believe my story that I once worked for a newspaper, albeit a fish wrap like our first stop in newsstands before the recycle bin.

What, when you have a resume, can you say to stall someone how asks for a resume? Perhaps the stall isn't in the un-file but the hand-off. You want this resume that I have limited copies of, you're going to have to tell me about the positions you're secretly hiring for that you're not telling anyone else about.

Over at inVentiv Health I introduced myself based only on the title of the company. The first part of the title of the company. She said the word "pharmaceuticals" and there wasn't much more to talk about. I was listening over the shoulder of the previous person. I brought that up. "No entry-level positions, I heard?" "Right. There is a V.P. position but ..." Now on my mind what the previous introductee had been offered to pick and choose and loot from their table, I said, "I'll take that one." Take the t-shirt.

Now I'm in a ballroom with a bunch of want-well-to-dos I'm trying to hide a large thankfully-folded-already shirt.

Where did the next thought come from? When I walked out and found the men's restroom, was I just spacing out my time, calling an audible on my plan to shotgun the showroom and acting like I'm peeing. Better to act like I'm peeing in the men's bathroom than anywhere else.

Yes, by then I needed somewhere to shelve this shirt. I considered one of my legs. A couple of my Velcros would have strapped it to my calf leg. In a stall. I won't retell a story from grade five and a pair of lost underwear. I would be making this into a reconnaissance mission. Inspect the porcelain. Protect the package by wrapping it in T.P. The toilet's shaped-to-ride-the-roller-coaster-waste design made for a sticking place. Be back whenever.

Returned to main. Later returned to men's. It had fallen but still hidden. I had a plastic bag by then. I walked out the front door. Tony's brother just left the dance club.