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Pressing the red button marked "Do Not Press"
So I'm in this meeting with a new client a few hours ago.
He, the client, is dressed in camo/cargo pants tucked into his jack boots, a polo shirt and sporting he's a buzzcut. In addition to his choice of clothes I notice that he is built like a Hummer. Not one of those girlie/wussie H2 Hummers either. I'm talking one of those war-friendly, roll-over-enemy-babies-and-giggle, armored, battle limos. He's huge. He's also a serious person, big on intent, not much on laughter. I surmised from his outfit and demeanor ex-military, probably Special Ops or something like that. Later during the course of the meeting, I find out my guess is right.
So anyway, we're discussing plans for his project, answering questions, bouncing ideas back and forth. The meeting has a good vibe to it, everything is positive.
We're getting to the end of the meeting, the point where I start to daydream and my mind wanders.
I start to wonder what this "Dealer of Death" would do if I reach across the table and smack the living shit out of him.
Then the wonderment turns to urge.
Now, I find myself fighting the "urge" to wale on this guy's brow! Not that he's done anything wrong, mind you. He's been a hell of a nice guy. Likable even!
I just wanted to see what would happen.
Thankfully a rush of sanity and self-preservation washes over me, and the urge passes.
The meeting ends, sans bloodshed. We shake hands with one of those alpha-male, iron-grip, kind of gestures and he and I joke about that as he leaves.
Situation averted. All stations-- stand down.
The human animal... One odd beast.
Is this what PMS is like?
12/7/2004 04:21:43 PM
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