Hangin' with Rich Dudes

I work for a small company. A very small company. A startup company.

This is a change of pace from last year, when I worked for a big company. A huge company. A billion-dollar company.

It turns out, all things considered, that I very much enjoy working for this small company. Its busy at times, sure, but I get to experience and be involved with things that I wouldn't be involved with in a big company. I had a cool experience last week.

Last week there was this big trade show in Chicago, and our customer, the big company that my small company is doing stuff for, was showing our product at their booth. It was all big and fancy looking... And as I walked around the book I saw a man talking to another man about the product, and demonstrating software, and a user interface that I created, to the customer.

I nearly vomited. Rather than feeling good that my hard work was being demonstrated to a person, I felt little and frightened. I'm not sure why, but I felt strangely insecure at that moment. That's another story, and probably subject to some kind of psycho-analysis.

Later that same day, I was introduced to some guys from Taiwan. I had no idea who these guys were or why I was being introduced (at least not at the time), but I smiled and shook hands as if I was important. I wondered how much their suits cost, and I hoped they couldn't tell simply by looking that my suit was over 10 years old and had been purchased for about $250.

One of the men bowed to me.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I grew up in a town of 9,000 people in Indiana. I've never, ever, had anyone bow to me. 10 years ago I moved to the Chicago area, and it seemed like a massive leap from what I knew. A few years before that move I had my first interview for a "real job." I didn't know how to act then either. Just about 3 years before that I was in a drunken fraternity, where a dear friend of mine taught me two wonderful skills: how to tie a tie and how to light a fart. Same friend. Good guy.

Looking back, the fraternity was a socially difficult step up as well. You see, in that fraternity, there were kids who had grown up in much different households than I had. My first year there was socially awkward, as I felt odd and out of place among young men who seemed to know more about the world than I did.

You get past these things I think by throwing yourself into them.

As far as bowing goes, when I was in karate lessons as a kid, and bowed to Mr. Duhamell, but he didn't bow back.

So when this guy bowed to me I had no idea how to respond. What was culturally appropriate? I decided I'd do something in between. I shook his hand and nodded by head... It was a gesture not unlike that which I would do to anyone, but with a slightly more substantial head nod.

Clearly I am a master of multinational relations.

So, there I was, having experienced what it feels like for someone to bow me, and in a real world situation. Later that night would tell my wife about the experience, explaining how much I liked it and how I would like for her to start bowing to me. She hasn't bowed yet, but I bet she's thinking it over. The dudes from Taiwan all handed me their business cards, and I took them, placing them in my suit pocket and feeling as though I had somehow duped these poor men into thinking I was much more important than I am.

Suckers!

Later in the evening, still snickering about the bow, I found myself at a reception for various businessmen and doctors and investors. As I stood talking with a man, a man whose net worth is over $100 million, I couldn't help but wonder what to say. Mostly I just didn't want to sound stupid, so I said very little, I but acted very engaged. Indeed this rich guy was interesting to talk to, but mostly I tried to imagine ways that I could ask him to hand me a check for a million bucks.

I couldn't think of any good way to ask. Dang.

As the guy continued to talk and talk about companies and international business and things I don't understand, I felt a rumble of gas in my innards. I've been in many social situations where a loud rip roarin' fart among friends draws much praise and laughter. This was no such situation, and I was pretty sure that the rich dude I was talking to (unlike my daughters, who fight for the opportunity) would turn down an offer to pull my finger.

Looking back, I should have told him that I'll let him pull my finger for a million dollars.

As the (very kind) rich dude continued to talk to me (and I admit, I was grateful that this dude would spend so much time talking to me) my thoughts became more intently focused on my body's increasing need to fart. I wasn't sure how much longer I would be able to hold it in, nor could I think of a good way to excuse myself from the conversation.

Soon enough, and thankfully, the rich dude became distracted by a conversation with someone more important. Let's be clear here: It was nice of this guy to talk to me for so long, as I was the least important person in the room. Calling someone a "rich dude" comes with some negative connotations. This "rick dude" seemed to be a very kind and easy going rich dude. Any baggage was on my end.

Anyway, as he moved on to a new conversation, I saw my big chance to break away. I walked over to an empty corner of the room, far enough that nobody could hear or smell my sin, and let my body take care of its needs.

BBBBRRRRRT!

I felt better.

Confident that none of the gaseous sin would follow me, I wandered back over to the rich dudes (there were multiple rich dudes) and listened in on the conversation while sipping a glass of wine. I worked on my facial expressions, attempting to look as wise as possible while masking my inner redneck. This is hard to do, as my inner redneck isn't buried all the deep.

The rich dudes talked about Barrack Obama. It turned out the rich dude I was talking with before knows Obama personally... It also turns out the rich dude I was talking to previously has had Bill and Hillary Clinton at his house!

I wondered if Obama ever lit a fart. (I didn't wonder about Bill. I'm willing to bet he is sitting in an office somewhere right now, very bored, lighting farts.)

I'm trying to think of the most famous person who has ever been in my house. It has to be Keith.

Later that night I found myself talking to another rich dude. This rich dude, however, was different. He was a surfer dude from London. Again, I'm not a worldly man, but I do know something about London: I know that there was a TV show in the 80's called The Young Ones, and it was from London... Or somewhere around there.

So I talked with the rich English surfer dude about The Young Ones, and it was cool.

Come to think of it, maybe rich dudes aren't all the different than Hoosiers like me.