Does This GeoPath Tee Make Me Look Fat?
Twice This Week, But Most Definitely Not Weakly
Does This GeoPath Tee Make Me Look Fat?
by Nick Coston, U.S. Sales Director, The Neuron; Industry Humorist
Written live from The Wahoo Grill, Redington Beach, FL
Each year, right at OAAA/GeoPath Conference time, I have a habit of writing a piece about my prepping for the week. I say week because I usually start early and stay until they ask me politely to get lost. This year is no different. I come early, I’ll stay later than most, and they will kick me out well after the last speaker.
You see, I’m one of those attendees that gets his money’s worth. Or my company’s moneys worth. I attend every speaker, everybreak-out session, every breakfast, every lunch and of course, evening events. I clap for everyone. I’m the eternal bad penny who sometimes laughs at the wrong moment. It happens. But I’m everywhere. And I’m watching you.
Especially what you’re wearing. But you know something, they don’t call it a conference for nothing. All that time and money you spend on getting to Marco Island, Florida and then pay the per room, per night cost of $1350, or something like that, well heck, I’m glad I pulled an Airbnb at the JW and rented out sleeping spots to Kym Frank, Tommy Teepell and that guy who does those fortune cookie ads. By the way, remind me to ask the fortune cookie dude if you order takeout Chinese, and we eat fortune cookies on our kitchen table, and we see the ad inside the fortune cookie, is it no longer an OOH ad? If so, what are you doing in my room? I’m gonna need answers before I issue you a key card and assign you a sleeping spot.
As usual, I grossly overpacked. You think that after attending seven of these conferences, I would have learned that I don’t need four outfit changes per day. None of them mix and match, of course. Do I really need three pairs of swim trunks? I probably won’t even swim. Technically, I’m not even supposed to swim after getting two new eyes in the past few weeks. And I can’t wear them like pajamas, have you ever woke up in the middle of the night, had to go to the bathroom wearing a bathing suit? It’s very awkward. Especially for women. Maybe I can sell a pair to the fortune cookie guy. Swim trunks that is, not eyes: Hey, a man’s gotta eat.
As for playing dress-up, Covid changed all that. While I don’t expect to see Kevin Gleason in his full length, retro, circa 1940’s evening robe, with matching leather slippers, how many two-piece suits do you expect to see? We are used to, at best, these past two years wearing clothes we usually paint our homes with. Do people even have suits anymore? And shoes! Do flip-flops now count as everyday foot wear? I’m not sure if our industry is ready to see Vinnie Pannutti’s feet while we listen intently to living-legend, Megan Rapinoe speak. Personally, I packed three pairs of shoes, and on Sunday as I drive south from my current posturing in Madeira Beach, I’ll need to pick up a pair of those flip-flops. That will make the required four pairs. My minimum shoe allotment during Covid times. Last time in Las
Vegas, three years ago, I brought five pair. I was stylin’. I mean, I’m no Christina Radigan, if you follow me, when it comes to fancy footwear, but I do know how to post up.
Make no mistake , Megan Rapinoe will only see me in my best footwear. And if anyone can hook me up with Ms Rapinoe and I in a photo, well, you can have my whole suitcase.
I’ll shine those shoes too. And dress nicely, like school clothes from 1976. No white tee-shirts either, Clive Punter. I’m watching you. This is our Prom, our industry Cotillion, it’s Showtime, baby. It’s been three, long, hellish years. People have changed jobs, lost jobs, lost accounts, switched from buying to selling, or flat out just can’t afford to show up. Don’t celebrate this momentous occasion by wearing work-from-home duds, make this one count. Bring it!
One more thing, if anyone wants to help me un-pack my 90 pound traveling mausoleum, there may be an extra pair of Hawaiian-style swim trunks in it for you. Extra-large.
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