I swear, I was going to write about something highbrow this week.
Let's be real: this column is never going to be your weekly destination for erudite intellectualism. We have wonderful writers dedicated to bringing you everything from local news to sports highlights to thoughtful opinions. As for me? I just hang out in my little corner and talk to you about cats and TikTok and nonsense that hopefully makes you smile once in a while.
Occasionally, though, I yearn to write something with a little more depth. You know, maybe showcase some range and perhaps bring a little unexpected sophistication to these pages.
And then, on Monday, a banana exploded in my pants. Take a guess which topic I'm choosing to write about. I know my lane, people.
Public speaking has never been my favorite activity. I'm self-conscious enough without a room full of people staring at me. Anytime I'm tasked with talking to a group of people at once, it's tough to keep my brain focused on the mission. No matter how hard I try to shut it up, there's always a second voice in my head. A much louder voice. It screams things at me like:
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"DO I LOOK WEIRD? I BET I LOOK WEIRD. EVERYONE IS STARING AT ME. SIT UP STRAIGHT. SUCK IN YOUR GUT. I'M NOT MAKING ENOUGH EYE CONTACT. WAIT, NOW I'M MAKING TOO MUCH EYE CONTACT! OH GOD, IS MY FLY OPEN? I AM A COMPLETE FAILURE AS A HUMAN BEING."
I don't know how people feel at ease giving a speech. I've always hated it, but in an exciting way. Some people go on rollercoasters for a thrill. The only adrenaline surge I need is for someone to say, "Hey, Shane, why don't you say a few words?"
Most of my work week is spent in our company's advertising department, helping businesses reach audiences like you through our wide portfolio of print and digital solutions. On Mondays, we have our weekly meeting to catch up on all things advertising. This week's get-together was already destined for weirdness. My colleague Brian Menster (who always complains I never mention him in my column) thought it would be great April Fool's Day fun for all of us to walk in wearing tacky vintage sports coats, so we obliged.
I brought one I used to wear unironically in the '80's when tacky sports coats were somehow fashionable. Thankfully, we've evolved from that era. Unfortunately, so has my stomach. My once oversized sports coat now barely gets around my frame. Throughout the meeting, I was in constant fear it was seconds away from audibly ripping down the back like I was Bruce Banner about to transform into the world's chubbiest superhero, The Incredible Bulk.
What a perfect time, then, to engage the team in a rousing exercise of SALES ROLEPLAYS. It's actually a valuable exercise, where one of us plays a client and we practice assessing their needs and explaining how our products can help them reach customers and gain traction in the community. It's fun, except it's also a little daunting being the center of attention and knowing you're about to be critiqued by your colleagues. When it came my turn, I think I did a decent job, but that shrill little voice in my brain wouldn't shut up. This time, though, it was saying something unexpected.
All the voice said to me was, "SOMETHING FEELS WEIRD."
Two fun facts I forgot to mention:
1: The pants I was wearing that day have a small hole in the lining of the right front pocket. They came that way, and I can't sew to save my life.
2: That morning, I was focused on nonchalantly smuggling in the aforementioned tacky sports coat, which explains why I absent-mindedly stuck my mid-morning snack banana in that pocket — and then promptly forgot all about it.
And as I sat there fidgeting in my comically small sports coat, The Incredible Bulk inadvertently crushed that banana into oblivion ("BULK SMASH!"). And as I was in the midst of my sales roleplay with all eyes on me, the decimated pile of what was now rapidly becoming banana pudding wasn't just collecting in my pocket, it was actively seeping through the hole in said pocket and slowly oozing down my thigh.
If there ARE highbrow intelligent readers among you, they might be wondering why I didn't immediately excuse myself to sort things out. But there's simply no graceful way mid-meeting to say, "One moment please, I'm having somewhat of a banana crisis within the confines of my trousers." Instead, I just sat there, slowly coming to terms with what was happening in a land down under. Eventually, the meeting ended and I was able to sheepishly shuffle out of the room before I started leaving a delicious trail of pants puree in my wake.
Is there a lesson to be learned in all this? I'm not highbrow enough to find one — well, other than if you're heading into a high pressure business meeting, you might want to check your pockets for any hitchhiking free-range fruit beforehand. And if you're curious why my pants magically changed colors over my lunch hour Monday, now you know.
Personally, I found the entire episode to be a heroic act worthy of acclaim. After all, if I can get through an all-eyes-on-me business meeting with a DIY smoothie trickling down my leg, perhaps I'm a better public speaker than I ever thought. I'd test the theory further, but I'm fresh out of bananas.