Networking: My Personal Horror Story

An awkward tale of professional humiliation

A Blundering Beginning

"I WOULD TOTALLY COME OVER AND SAY HI BUT, THE ROW!!"

I shouted this across an auditorium, at some poor acquaintances I only vaguely knew. As it turns out, doing this during a show will garner you a few stares. Luckily, I retained the social tact to wait until intermission before performing my version of the Dean Scream (Rick Shriek?).

Even so, I did stand out amongst the people seated in the balcony.

Listen, it's very important you understand I had no choice. I was seated at the end of the row. They were all the way in the center. There were people seated in between us. I couldn't just go over and say hello without having to stand directly in front of the other seated strangers. Making small talk is painful enough without standing with your crotch at eye level of an innocent witness.

This is what I was up against:

Their reaction was roughly akin to Frodo's when the screech of a stalking Nazgûl lights up the night. That is, abject terror at the weirdo quasi-acquaintance attempting to make contact like an untrained alien dropped into Earthling society.

The two of them acknowledged by returning a polite head nod and wave. It should be noted that we had already done the polite head nod/wave bit after spotting each other at the start of the show.

Apparently they just weren't ready to take our relationship to the "scream at each other across crowded public events" level.

Which is a real shame because I was TRYING to network with them. It's always been a particularly weak skill of mine. I figured this would be a fine time to work on it. And boy, oh boy, was I giving it the old college try.

In hindsight, I've yet to read a "Six Tips To Networking Better" article that contains the sage advice, "Loudly yell at your prospective target before closing in, like an elephant announcing its intent to approach a watering hole."

The Maladroit Middle

As the show resumed, I realized that this interaction was, in fact, awkward. I'm confident that at least half the row was staring at me while the performers returned to the stage, rather than the actual comedy show. I consider it a bit of extra bang for their buck. I hope they were satisfied.

I knew I would need to be much smoother and cooler when I sauntered up after the show. I internally began pressuring myself to conjure small talk topics. The solution was obvious: the show itself. The Second City was on stage, putting up a variety of different comedy sketches. Perfect. If I could just remember ONE sketch I liked, that's all I really needed.

The flaw in this plan: whenever I watch a comedy show, I instantly forget 99% of what happened about five seconds after it ends. I don't know why this is. Often, I sit there TRYING to remember a great moment so that I can compliment a friend who is in the show, and I still can't do it. I'm like the world's dumbest deer, continually walking into an electric fence and never realizing that I can simply go around.

Between the residual embarrassment of the shriek, focusing on memorizing a moment, and still trying to enjoy the show in front of me, I had a pretty busy second half just sitting in my chair.

Afterward, I waited as the other patrons filed out, clearing room for my crotch to occupy unobstructed. I made my approach, inwardly feeling focused like a tiger hunting its prey, outwardly presenting more like Tigger. I had the PERFECT opening question already queued up.

All my research on how to network and make small talk had led me up to this moment. I wasn't about to squander it with some WEAK ASS question. I let it loose with the ferocity of the first rifle volley at the Battle of Lexington, a shot heard round the auditorium:

"Hey, how'd you like the show?"

Boom. Crushed it. Just fucking nailed it. Rising to the moment like Jordan in the Finals. Likely in awe of my flawless question, they commented briefly on the choreography and lighting, both of which were on point. Then, the unthinkable happened. They asked a question of me.

"What did YOU think of the show?"

What did I think? Little ole me? What a FANTASTIC question. Frankly, it seemed a bit derivative of my earlier interrogative, but they were free to use it since I hadn't had time to file for a trademark yet. In that moment, my thought process was roughly:

Oh shit, oh fuck. Quick quick, I got this. What was that scene I really enjoyed? It's already been one whole second, dude! RESPOND FASTER! WHAT THE HELL WAS IT THOUGH??? QUICK, NAME JUST ONE THING THAT HAPPENED IN THE SHOW. LITERALLY ANYTHING. YOU'RE STILL NOT TALKING OUT LOUD?!?! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, TO DIE OF OLD AGE?? YOU DUMBASS THAT WILL NEVER WORK.

"Uh, it was great."

Yeah. Real slick, Rick. An enlightening take for the ages. The show featuring Second City, one of the premier sketch comedy groups in the country, was well done. If anyone from over there is reading, feel free to use my picture and quote me on your marketing materials. I doubt a more glowing review would even be possible.

After that, the discussion sank like an anchor. Like desperate sailors, we were all working hard just to plug the holes in this leaky ship of a conversation. Internally, I was already sunk. Cold ocean water was rushing up to embrace me. Like a barnacle though, I latched onto them as we all filed out of the theater together.

A Floundering Finish

Outside, there were a few other people from the local comedy scene who'd seen the show from the main floor. These new mariners on the Boat of Awkwardness quickly helped patch things up. After a few minutes, it was time for everyone to go their separate ways. I asked if anyone had any shows coming up and everyone listed their dates.

As I said goodbye, one of the two initial conversation targets stuck his hand out to shake. My fine motor skills managed this flawlessly. An ace of a moment by me, proving definitively I could interact like a normal person. As I began to spin away and walk victoriously off into the sunset, my eyes glanced down to the hand of the other acquaintance, stuck firmly in his own pocket.

But was it really SOLIDLY in there? Did I spy, perhaps, maybe the slightest bit of movement there during my triumphant turn? By now, I was already facing the other direction. However, sensing a pending faux pas, I knew I had to go back in. So I just continued my movement, pirouetting all the way around like a clumsy ballerina and delivering this gem:

"Oh, did you want to shake?"

During a brief moment of eye contact, I could see him conducting the calculus on whether it'd just be easier to shove his hands in his mouth and bite them off. Instead, he chose to take it out and shake my clumsily extended appendage. I then pivoted again, only 180 degrees this time, and wandered off to contemplate my entire life.

To reiterate: I DID A FULL 360 DEGREE SPIN MOVE AND MADE THIS GUY PULL HIS HAND OUT OF HIS POCKET AND SHAKE MINE.

And he actually did it. I got my hand shake. So really, that makes ME the alpha dog of the whole situation. I bent the world to my will, in the dumbest way possible. The Boat of Awkwardness has got a new Captain now, and you're looking at him.

I know it’s odd the boat is on dry land, we don’t talk about it because that would be awkward....

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ICYMI

Last week I got a piece published in Slackjaw titled, “Greek Mythological Figures Answer Modern Dating Prompts.” You can check it out at that link. If you love it, let me know! I’m considering expanding upon it because I enjoyed writing it so much.

COMMENT

1. What is your networking horror story?

2. Maybe you’re fantastic at networking - how do you do it? Please leave some charm for the rest of us.

3. I published this note on how to reinvent my professional persona last week after an upheaval at my current job. If you’ve got any advice on that front, I’d love to hear it.