I arrive at the restaurant 10 minutes early. It is not because of some superior moral code or exceptional work ethic - I was threatened with career death. Not that I believe this sales rep could kill my contract with her company, but she could IM me to job suicide. So there I was, early to a business lunch. Although I got the feeling she wasn't terribly happy about it.
"Okay, this is an important meeting," she starts. "These are very serious people and we've been trying to get their business for over a year. It's very important that we can show them we can meet their advertising needs."
"No problem," I try to reassure her and break the tension. "I'm here. I'm ready. Let's do this thing! Woot! Woot!"
She is not amused. "Yeah, about that. They are SERIOUS people," she repeats. "We need to be professional."
I can't help but wince, but she marches on, "I mean, folksy won't work with these people. No 'hitches in your giddyup', or 'chapped hides'. I need you to be the technical expert here."
But her words confuse me.
"'Technical expert'?! I am not usually the first choice for technical expert. Tell me why I'm here again?" Because this is not looking like a fun outing for me. It was bad enough I had to take a shower before 4pm, and put on heels and remember to shave BOTH my legs. But now suddenly I'm supposed to be the technical expert?
"Well, you're the most technical person in California, and you know all the latest marketing buzz. You're smart, even if you are a bit...casual.They love all the latest stuff."
"But we don't do all the latest stuff. Our audience isn't into all that hype..." But she sushes me as the SERIOUS people arrive.
We sit. We chat. I can't seem to make a connection. For once, she wasn't exaggerating. These people talk in buzz words with the demeanor of funeral directors. I seriously hoped the food was good.
I stared around the table at the intently droopy faces. I wished I was having lunch with my family. A few fart jokes were just what this crowd needed. And then I guessed I daydreamed a little, because when the food arrived, I kind of forgot where I was.
"Do you want me to cut your meat for you?" I ask before I can think.
The table goes silent; even the waiter freezes. And I am struck dumb. I take a moment to pray for a cloak of invisibility or a live-action "undo" button. I look around. All eyes on me. No smiles. Nope, no undo.
The client stares at me for a moment, "I beg your pardon?"
I purse my lips and frown. I really don't know how to explain myself.
"Ah, sorry? I, um, well..." Really, how does one recover from such a world-crossing blunder in front of the basset hounds of the business-first crowd?
"I guess I'm having mommy flashbacks. I uh, don't get out much!" Laughing it off doesn't seem to be working. I turn blankly to the horrified rep. Back to you, Jane. She looks a little purple, but then she starts blurting buzz. Staccato at first, but then she gets into the groove, blathering shiny marketing words like there is no tomorrow and taking back everyone's attention. Except for Meat Man.
He is still staring at me. "I read your blog."
"My blog?" My first urge is to deny everything, but I finally manage to tamp down the knee jerk reactions that got me into this mess to begin with, and I pause.
"I check everyone's profile before I meet them. Amy's Mama Drama. You have a link to it on LinkedIn," he explains. But his voice and face are deadpan, so I'm not really sure if we're going to a happy place.
"Yes, yes I do. I had forgotten about the link. But I suppose it's a good thing that I do, if I'm going to trot out mommy cliches at a business lunch," Ha. Ha. I glance at him to see if I'm funny yet. Nope.
"We've got a 2-year old we're trying to take off the pacifier. My wife thought your hidden binky post was very funny," and yet he's not smiling.
"Does your wife work outside the home?" I'm desperately searching for a conversational turn.
"She does. She's an architect. She works 3/4 time right now, but we're expecting our second in a few months. She finds it a challenge to juggle it all, but as far as I know she hasn't yet asked a client if she can cut their meat." Okay. No turns. But I'm done.
"Ah, well, give her time." Honestly! Grow a funny bone. Or that second kid will send you into therapy. "She'll be pulling binkies out of her briefcase to sooth angry clients in no time. Nothing like two kids to help you confuse your mechanical pencils and crayons." I almost say something about her confusing his meat with the kids' food, but I manage to control myself. Miracle.
And then I get the conversational turn. But it isn't a good one. "Your site doesn't seem to do the cutting edge social media marketing we're focusing on. Is that right?"
Okay, so I'm a blurter. Proven. And I confuse my hats sometimes, clearly. And normally, I can spin. But I can't outright lie.
"Nope. We've tried small experiments. It doesn't resonate with our audience. Marketers love it, of course. And there are consumer applications that make sense. But we have a low-bullshit tolerant, senior-level audience and they just don't buy the buzz. See right through it. We could offer it, but it wouldn't work for you. And that's not how we roll...out..product. That's not how we rollout product." For the record, I said NOTHING about hitches or giddyups.
He looks at me again, just like he did before. But this time I hold his gaze. And oddly, he nods. "It's not a fit for us now. We're seeing our current track through. But I suspect we'll come to the same place." Then he turns his attention back to the buzz fest and I am spared.
The business was not gotten. For now. Nor have I had any more lunch requests, but of course I did disable IM.
And after two weeks of steady practice, my children can cut their own meat.
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