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Tom DiMatteo had to do most of the talking at our presentation today, which was good because Tom wowed the customer in my somewhat biased observation. My contributions were anecdotes and sidebars... but I'm pretty good at that, even in my debilitated condition.
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I'm pretty sure that my customer didn't catch on how I played with pain. The mark of a true athlete.
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Someday, when the story of how Nanepashemet Telecom became a dominant economic force on the American business landscape is told, tales of my triumph over stomach cramps will fill the boardrooms and permeate the water coolers.
1 comment:
I see you have a keen sense of the internal goin's on, neighbor. I myself am aflicted by flairs in my prostrate gland, a most troubling development. I was recently at a convention in Music City (Hoo Ha!), and had occassion to converse with a most charming philly, whom I was, of course, beguiling with my wit and tales of bravery. As I sipped my white wine spritzer, I felt a dull tingling in my wedding tackle, followed by such a burnin' sensation, akin to when momma put oil o wintergreen on our privates for thinkin wicked thoughts. I was a tearin' up. Quickly, I excused my self, and sought to relieve the pain and pressure, only to find the garden hose was like my pappy on a corn likker jug - not workin'. I chose at this time put my mow bile phone to ear and make like I was speakin' to an executive type, so as to give the impressionality of bein sharp to attending to such with diligence. I played through the pain, as you mention. Seeing as I was a fine athlete and all. Body of a 40 year old, I am told, by the fellow lookin to snap my picture down there in that Fidel Castro district in the city by the bay. Shucks, I'm all ablush, must be that second spritzer . . . . Voices in my head, gotta go.
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