So nothing has happened. I thought that when I launched my blog assault on the human race sponsorship deals, endorsements and TV appearances would come flooding in like the mighty Red River in springtime. Why do people who live on a flood plain get surprised when they get flooded out? When the hot young reporter interviewed the toothless man she had sought out in an attempt to find a local with “character” he explained that the river had flooded every year “cept back in ‘67” and each and every time he had rebuilt. “What happened in 1967?” she queried. “Flooded twice!” he said with great pride.
But so far nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero.
But then I haven’t actually told anyone about it. Sent out a couple of emails. I did put up a notice on the coming events bulletin board at the laundry mat – got a good spot between a “kittens free to a good home” and a “parts for an ‘87 Chevy van”.
But I have yet to harness the power of the social networks or stoke up the coal fires of the search engines. Nor have I enlisted the help of McMann and Tate to build a publicity campaign. And I haven’t bothered to build links into the blog so it doesn’t matter if it’s Larry Tate or Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce that I am referencing because well I haven’t connected my blog to the outside world. In short I have not pandered to the public in any way.
Of course I not sure what I was expecting. There are millions and millions of pages of disinformation out here on the web. So it might take more than a couple of days for the masses to discover my beautiful mind in this mad, mad, mad, mad world. Remember look under the big W.
The big what is what you are thinking. Don’t worry I’ll circle back and pick you up on the way back.
Am I disappointed? Well no. Is it a case of not wanting to belong to a club that would want you to be a member? Maybe. My feelings on this subject run amok. One moment I am as giddy as Scarlett before the ball. “Oh Mammy, let’s check our blog stats!” And the next? The next I have the reflexes of induced coma patient.
How can I describe it? Ok let’s try this…
Imagine your birthday is coming up but you don’t tell anybody at work about it and then on the day nobody says anything and you are kinda ticked off. I mean couldn’t have someone in HR noticed on your file that today was your birth date? So what’s the deal? You don’t need a big party just somebody saying “Hey happy birthday” But no.
On the other hand you are somewhat relieved because it is somewhat depressing to be another year older and still be a somewhat mid-level associate marketing manager. Yes, it is true that you are one of the few people on your floor whose cubicle is a double wide but real success has eluded you. You don’t need any reminders of your failures. That’s what in-laws are for. No, maybe its better that nobody at work remembered the date of your entry onto this mortal coil.
That thought holds you until about 10:30 maybe 10:45 but as it gets closer to lunch you start to think “Hey maybe the gang are going to surprise me at lunch”. You don’t dare leave your double wide cubicle. You busy yourself with the minutiae of the day-to-day routine of an office drone. Noon comes. Noon goes. By 1:30 you are still playing it cool but inside you are getting pretty steamed up. I mean it’s not like you thought they might shut down the office for the afternoon or hire a sky writer to send their message. “Hey Jones look out the window! Ha! Ha!”
And hey you’re not like Debbie in accounting who makes such a big deal out of her birthday you would think she was six. Not your style. But to be honest it would be nice if someone noticed you. Or appreciated you. Some small token of acknowledgement. Aren’t these people your friends? Haven’t you bought cookies and magazine subscriptions from their kids? Sponsored their disease of the month walk-a-thons? Went to their spouse’s funeral? By the time you leave work that day you have secretly renounced any degree of friendship you may have once held dear. And to prove your point you rip up your organ donor card.
Ok, a few weeks go by, maybe a month and then one day at lunch someone is talking about birth signs and you casually mention yours. “Oh hey we missed your birthday. We’ll catch you next time, big guy!” they all chorus like trained seals. You furtively make a bet with yourself that they won’t remember. They never do. Why would next year be any different? The wager? Another droplet of bile on that ever escalating acidic mound of burning all season radial tires in the pit of your stomach. You also promise yourself that under no circumstances or pain of torture will you reveal your birth information in the presence of any of your work mates for the next year. Maybe they will remember? No. You know all too well they won’t. And only when you die will they realize what fools they have been. Just like your family. Just like everybody. Just like that guy at the parking garage. And that other guy at that other place. They will be sorry. So sorry. You wait one day I’ll be dead and…
Oops kinda took a detour off the main highway and ended up in Unresolved Issuestown. Maybe you’ve been there? It’s just down the road from A Cry For Helpville.
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