No matter what your age, your social standing or your education, there doesn’t ever seem to be an end to the anxiety raised by making first impressions. They cross all boundaries; not only are they pivotal in your job and in social situations, but they influence almost every aspect of daily life. We all has that fear that one of these times, our foot will be planted inadvertently, but firmly in our mouth - from our first day at school to our final introduction at the pearly gates (Well, you see God... you are God, aren’t you? It was like this...).
First impressions lay the foundations for any future relationships and that only raises the emotional stakes. I always hated meeting people for the first time, mostly because of an absolute lack of confidence in myself; how could anyone except truly deranged and abnormal people, find me of any interest. Combine this with a genetic ability to blush to the point that even Rudolph couldn’t hold a candle to my reddish glow, you can get a rough idea of how much I enjoy first meetings. But I struggled through them, always trying to use my humour and limited charm to make people believe that I might be an asset at some time. There is nothing worse than having your first meeting with someone end up with you crying your eyes out and wetting your pants. Fortunately for me, that happened when I was two and not at any time recently. However, that is not to say that recently I didn’t feel like crying my eyes out and wetting my pants.
Many factors can go into a successful first impression. There are all of those readily recognized external things, like your appearance and the way you carry yourself. But also, and I think more important, there are the internal ones - the feeling that you are the one, the absolute Zen of it all, that exuded confidence and feeling of being in control that seems to carry you through. Sometimes you can emerge from one of these meetings amazed at the length of time that has gone by.
But on occasion, even with the most attention to detail applied, a small distraction can disrupt everything. In one meeting I had, we were two guys that were trying to make that first big impression with a Calgary company that signaled that we were the people and the product to be carried by them. Part of this preparation involved the delicate balance of our appearance.
I know of many first impressions that are lost in the greyness of being somewhere between over-dressed or underdressed. The meeting we had arranged called for the complete package. I, most normally found in jeans (clean on important occasions) was dressed in an smartly cut suit. Around my neck I wore a tie that made a statement; what the hell it said was beyond me, but apparently it yelled. There we were, two guys power dressed, ready for anything. We probably should have slammed each others shoulders and growled as we pumped each other up, but as refined men of the power elite, we compliment on another on our natty attire and put the finishing touches to our appearance.
Standing in front of the large bathroom mirror in the hotel room, I contemplated my appearance. I adjusted my tie, making sure the full Windsor sat squarely, when I noticed the shaving kit on the bathroom counter. Among the many things that spilled out was a small bottle of Dippity-Do hair gel. I looked at it with a mild level of shock. I called out to my business partner, asking him to come in the bathroom. I held the bottle like some sort of accusatory piece of evidence. He came in and asked me, "What?" I just said, "Dippity-Do?" He replied that his hair was really fine and the gel helped it stay in place. "Yes, but Dippity-Do?” I stammered. “Couldn't you use something with a name a bit more masculine? Maybe Oil of Whale Testicles or something? If I only knew about this earlier, I am sure we could have knocked off that Doo-Wop guy singing on the corner and scored his tube of Brylcreem. Don't you know that every time I look over at you during the meeting I will be thinking that everyone else in the room will be staring at your hair and texting each other with, 'Is that Dippity-Do in his hair?'"
A stutter was his best response. “Why don’t you just slap on a tutu, go into the meeting on your tippy toes and give them all a big, wet, sloppy kiss. It would have the same effect!” To say I was unsettled would be to minimize my state; unfortunately the whole thing went south from there.
Probably the most significant first impression and one that stays in someone’s memory the longest is “meeting the parents”. Nothing causes more hand wrenching and foot shuffling than that moment. But now that I am positioned to be the parent who is being met, I can say with honesty it is almost as gut wrenching to be met.
All the ideas I entertained over the years of greeting the future spouses of my children - with such lovable antics such as blowing loudly on a empty paper towel tube and then emerging with a whoosh from a darkened hallway dressed in tights and a towel for a cape proclaiming myself to be SuperDad have gone by the wayside. I am now leaning towards the funny, but subdued and understanding parent. Having raised my children I know what lurks behind that happy and pleasant exterior. I also know what evil can lurk in their beating little hearts. So if I want them to move out anytime soon, I better not scare anybody off.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Ghostly Visits, I am a 9 Percenter
I passed a milestone a little while ago that was something I never really thought about, but I guess in some manner it is an accomplishment. I have been a published writer for over 20 years now. Not that I have shaken the earth with any of my ramblings or even given it the slightest of nudges, but still it is something that not many people can boast.
Over that span of years only once has a complete stranger taken the time and effort to respond. That was after I wrote an article that described living in an old house in the oldest part of town. Strange things seemed to happened there involving missing keys, oddly stacked canned goods in the pantry and furniture that aligned itself up on its own. I then explained that I had a 2 year old child who lived in the house whose actions explained all of these events. The respondent rebuked me for, “wrecking a perfectly good ghost story with kids.” Throughout their lives, my kids have had an incredible talent for wrecking a good many things, but a ghost story is not one of them. Now that they have grown up and their curiosity level has somewhat leveled out - the mantra for much of their childhood seemed to be, “I wonder what would happen if...” - things don’t seem to break all that often.
I should have known better than to mess with a ghost story, even if it was well intentioned. According to an Ipsos-Reid survey completed in October 2006, 47 per cent of Canadians believe in ghosts, with 9 per cent of those saying that they have had a visit from a dead relative (there are times at family reunions that I am certain that number has to be higher). I wanted to compare that figure to how many people believed in a fair and balanced government, but that seems to be a top secret statistic revealed only to those who cower on bended knees to the Gods of Ottawa. I easily found out how many Canadians believed in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, God, Satan and the percent of Canadians who brush their tongues in the morning - 55 per cent for those who are really reading this closely. But the number who believe in good government is another matter all together; I still think it will be less than those who believe in ghosts.
What brought me to this point is that I am one of the 47 per cent above and for that matter one of the 9 per cent as well (although I am not part of the 55 per cent). Living in an old city and more importantly, in an old part of an old city I have had my share of could be considered ghostly experiences. When I lived in a house on University Avenue as a student, my bedroom was at the top of a stairway, the only room on the attic level. One night I heard someone walking up the stairs with quite deliberate footfalls and then stop at the top of the stairs, which was at the foot of my bed. Thinking it was one of my house-mates trying to scare me, I rolled over quickly to catch him. There was no one there. Needless to say, my sleep was a bit disturbed that night.
A much more visual moment took place years ago when I was working at a local private hospital. I was on a midnight shift and it was just before dawn. My chin was drooping to my chest, when suddenly my eyes popped open to see a woman with brown hair and wearing a brown smock come running up to me with a smirk on her face. The sight of her shocked me, as patients were asleep at that hour and I sat upright in my chair. Just as suddenly, she was gone. I put this off due to a sleepy hallucination, but the following day I mentioned it to a person who had worked there for years and she just said, “Oh, so you saw the Lady in Brown?”
My kids stayed the night at the hospital after it closed to see if they could detect any activities. They had cameras set up, tape recorders set to automatically start with sounds. Strangely enough, among other sounds and events, they did hear and record a woman’s voice seemingly humming a tune at 3:00 am.
Shortly after my father passed away in 2005, I had a dream in which everyone in my family unexpectedly dropped by my house. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my Dad walk up to me. Characteristically, he was wearing a loud sport coat, his tie was slightly askew and his silver hair was long and swept back. When I saw him, I asked him what he was doing here, as he was dead (I guess it is a bit easier being blunt when you are asleep). He just looked at me and said, “I am fine and everything is going to be alright.” Before I even had a chance to say, “You’ve been dead for two weeks and you are still giving advice?” he was gone. And he was right. Everything has turned out to be alright.
So I guess when everything is weighed, whether these ghostly sightings are a manifestation of the mind in tired or stressful situations or they really are contact from the other side, we won’t know until we get there. Houdini tried to do that and it was the one trick he couldn’t pull off. I will happily count myself among the 9 per cent who have dead relatives visit, but hopefully they won’t stay for more than a night. From what I understand, having resident ghosts in your house just kills the real estate value.
Over that span of years only once has a complete stranger taken the time and effort to respond. That was after I wrote an article that described living in an old house in the oldest part of town. Strange things seemed to happened there involving missing keys, oddly stacked canned goods in the pantry and furniture that aligned itself up on its own. I then explained that I had a 2 year old child who lived in the house whose actions explained all of these events. The respondent rebuked me for, “wrecking a perfectly good ghost story with kids.” Throughout their lives, my kids have had an incredible talent for wrecking a good many things, but a ghost story is not one of them. Now that they have grown up and their curiosity level has somewhat leveled out - the mantra for much of their childhood seemed to be, “I wonder what would happen if...” - things don’t seem to break all that often.
I should have known better than to mess with a ghost story, even if it was well intentioned. According to an Ipsos-Reid survey completed in October 2006, 47 per cent of Canadians believe in ghosts, with 9 per cent of those saying that they have had a visit from a dead relative (there are times at family reunions that I am certain that number has to be higher). I wanted to compare that figure to how many people believed in a fair and balanced government, but that seems to be a top secret statistic revealed only to those who cower on bended knees to the Gods of Ottawa. I easily found out how many Canadians believed in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, God, Satan and the percent of Canadians who brush their tongues in the morning - 55 per cent for those who are really reading this closely. But the number who believe in good government is another matter all together; I still think it will be less than those who believe in ghosts.
What brought me to this point is that I am one of the 47 per cent above and for that matter one of the 9 per cent as well (although I am not part of the 55 per cent). Living in an old city and more importantly, in an old part of an old city I have had my share of could be considered ghostly experiences. When I lived in a house on University Avenue as a student, my bedroom was at the top of a stairway, the only room on the attic level. One night I heard someone walking up the stairs with quite deliberate footfalls and then stop at the top of the stairs, which was at the foot of my bed. Thinking it was one of my house-mates trying to scare me, I rolled over quickly to catch him. There was no one there. Needless to say, my sleep was a bit disturbed that night.
A much more visual moment took place years ago when I was working at a local private hospital. I was on a midnight shift and it was just before dawn. My chin was drooping to my chest, when suddenly my eyes popped open to see a woman with brown hair and wearing a brown smock come running up to me with a smirk on her face. The sight of her shocked me, as patients were asleep at that hour and I sat upright in my chair. Just as suddenly, she was gone. I put this off due to a sleepy hallucination, but the following day I mentioned it to a person who had worked there for years and she just said, “Oh, so you saw the Lady in Brown?”
My kids stayed the night at the hospital after it closed to see if they could detect any activities. They had cameras set up, tape recorders set to automatically start with sounds. Strangely enough, among other sounds and events, they did hear and record a woman’s voice seemingly humming a tune at 3:00 am.
Shortly after my father passed away in 2005, I had a dream in which everyone in my family unexpectedly dropped by my house. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my Dad walk up to me. Characteristically, he was wearing a loud sport coat, his tie was slightly askew and his silver hair was long and swept back. When I saw him, I asked him what he was doing here, as he was dead (I guess it is a bit easier being blunt when you are asleep). He just looked at me and said, “I am fine and everything is going to be alright.” Before I even had a chance to say, “You’ve been dead for two weeks and you are still giving advice?” he was gone. And he was right. Everything has turned out to be alright.
So I guess when everything is weighed, whether these ghostly sightings are a manifestation of the mind in tired or stressful situations or they really are contact from the other side, we won’t know until we get there. Houdini tried to do that and it was the one trick he couldn’t pull off. I will happily count myself among the 9 per cent who have dead relatives visit, but hopefully they won’t stay for more than a night. From what I understand, having resident ghosts in your house just kills the real estate value.
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