Elvis Has Left the Office
Maybe if I tell you what I do for a living it will explain why I'm impersonating Elvis this Saturday.
On a recent weekday morning I woke up at 5:00am to make a 6:15 conference call. Since I scheduled the call I couldn't exactly complain about it. It's the only time that works for coworkers from Seattle, London, Tokyo, Frankfurt and Amsterdam. We meet once a month to check in on the status of our environmental initiatives, the work we're doing to lighten our freight company's environmental footprint. After a "good meeting," (we live for good meetings in Corporate America) I walked back to my cubicle to start my normal day, as a software development manager. With supply chain carbon footprints as a hobby and software development as a career, you could say my days are fairly analytical. By now you are also surely yawning.
But my life isn't all Dilbert. I've been an Elvis impersonator's back up dancer. Two years ago I walked with my friends Danny and Colt up five stairs onto the main stage of the Experience Music Project wearing matching floral sarongs and plastic leis. We paused for a beat while the band started and then we belted out "Rock the Hula, Rock, Rock the Hula!" to an audience of hundreds. While we tried to remember these simple words, and the more complicated dance moves, our friend Helen wowed the audience as the only female contestant in the contest, in a tasteful caped pantsuit, her red hair styled into a pompadour. But life's not all a stage...
Back In the office in my suit and tie, I ate breakfast in our corporate lunchroom, completely alone with my egg sandwich until a coworker showed up. Although I'd never met him before, I can't say he was atypical from my computer peers.
"I guess I'm not the only one who's hungry this morning." The man said to me from across the room.
"I looked up from my laptop and turned to see who was speaking to me. I tried to finish chewing before I spoke.
"Yeah." I stopped. I was searching for a business casual response: the kind that kills the time until that elevator door graciously opens and the conversation is over. I was trapped. Stuck between the floors for the space of breakfast. I decided to bridge the gap with this stranger by sharing company policy.
"I'm just here so I don't stink up my floor" As soon as the words left my mouth, I thought: who says things like this? Even though I was talking about my egg sandwich I surprised myself with this over disclosure. What kind of nerd am I becoming? My partner often looks at me with this question in his eyes.
Before I had time to ponder my awkward moment, the man spoke: "Oh I understand. Have you ever eaten Kim Chi?
"Yes." I offered tentatively" Where was he going with this?
"Well at my last job I had a friend who owned a Kim Chi factory. He used to get it for me in bulk." OK that was random, I thought. The man continued. "I used to eat it all of the time and my coworkers just hated it. Smelled terrible."
At this point I was pondering how rude it would be for me to just bury my face in my keyboard, rather than engage on spicy Korean cabbage. But the man kept talking.
"You know what really smells bad." Now keep in mind, I was still eating my breakfast while this man went on about smelly food..."Are you familiar with Asian food."
Oh no! A direct question from a coworker. I had to answer him, I'd be violating some management rule if I didn't, but I really didn't like where this conversation was going, especially since this guy was not Asian, and his focus on the cuisine had this academic feel to it.
"Yes." I said, "I'm familiar with Asian food." Because, really, in Seattle is there anyone who is not familiar with at least five distinct Asian cuisines?
The man continued, "Well theres this stuff that's sort of like tempeh, in that it's made from soybeans and allowed to grow a fungus on it." I put down my sandwich and attempted to finish chewing what was left in my mouth. "But instead of creating a firm mass, like tempeh, this stuff remains a gelatinous blob, yet with a distinct mold-like odor. Some people just love it. I've had it and it's not that bad - a little chewy."
Maybe it was the color draining from my face or the buzzer going off on the kitchen microwave, but something, some act of grace, halted the man's monolog. He packaged up his breakfast, (I didn't dare look to see what it was) wished me an enjoyable meal and walked out of the lunch room, leaving me to ponder what had just happened. How many variants of this particular conversation have I heard before and thought nothing of it? How many times, God forbid, have I been the guy initiating small talk, the one accosting complete strangers with bizarre non-sequitor information?
That's why I need Elvis, why this year I'll be putting on my friend Danny's red, sparkly pantsuit with the high collar, why I'll be spraying my hair black and crooning out a song I barely know to a room full of 500 friends and sympathetic strangers. Because I need the silly creativity of it. The chance to exercise the other part of my brain, the chance to do something not for the moral or intellectual or financial value of it, but just for the fun of it. The chance to trade keyboard for pelvic thrust.
If you'd like to join me and a bunch of other amateurs, singing and dancing in the footsteps of a King, then buy your tickets here. I'll see you in a week, and I promise not to say a word about stinky Asian food.
On a recent weekday morning I woke up at 5:00am to make a 6:15 conference call. Since I scheduled the call I couldn't exactly complain about it. It's the only time that works for coworkers from Seattle, London, Tokyo, Frankfurt and Amsterdam. We meet once a month to check in on the status of our environmental initiatives, the work we're doing to lighten our freight company's environmental footprint. After a "good meeting," (we live for good meetings in Corporate America) I walked back to my cubicle to start my normal day, as a software development manager. With supply chain carbon footprints as a hobby and software development as a career, you could say my days are fairly analytical. By now you are also surely yawning.
But my life isn't all Dilbert. I've been an Elvis impersonator's back up dancer. Two years ago I walked with my friends Danny and Colt up five stairs onto the main stage of the Experience Music Project wearing matching floral sarongs and plastic leis. We paused for a beat while the band started and then we belted out "Rock the Hula, Rock, Rock the Hula!" to an audience of hundreds. While we tried to remember these simple words, and the more complicated dance moves, our friend Helen wowed the audience as the only female contestant in the contest, in a tasteful caped pantsuit, her red hair styled into a pompadour. But life's not all a stage...
Back In the office in my suit and tie, I ate breakfast in our corporate lunchroom, completely alone with my egg sandwich until a coworker showed up. Although I'd never met him before, I can't say he was atypical from my computer peers.
"I guess I'm not the only one who's hungry this morning." The man said to me from across the room.
"I looked up from my laptop and turned to see who was speaking to me. I tried to finish chewing before I spoke.
"Yeah." I stopped. I was searching for a business casual response: the kind that kills the time until that elevator door graciously opens and the conversation is over. I was trapped. Stuck between the floors for the space of breakfast. I decided to bridge the gap with this stranger by sharing company policy.
"I'm just here so I don't stink up my floor" As soon as the words left my mouth, I thought: who says things like this? Even though I was talking about my egg sandwich I surprised myself with this over disclosure. What kind of nerd am I becoming? My partner often looks at me with this question in his eyes.
Before I had time to ponder my awkward moment, the man spoke: "Oh I understand. Have you ever eaten Kim Chi?
"Yes." I offered tentatively" Where was he going with this?
"Well at my last job I had a friend who owned a Kim Chi factory. He used to get it for me in bulk." OK that was random, I thought. The man continued. "I used to eat it all of the time and my coworkers just hated it. Smelled terrible."
At this point I was pondering how rude it would be for me to just bury my face in my keyboard, rather than engage on spicy Korean cabbage. But the man kept talking.
"You know what really smells bad." Now keep in mind, I was still eating my breakfast while this man went on about smelly food..."Are you familiar with Asian food."
Oh no! A direct question from a coworker. I had to answer him, I'd be violating some management rule if I didn't, but I really didn't like where this conversation was going, especially since this guy was not Asian, and his focus on the cuisine had this academic feel to it.
"Yes." I said, "I'm familiar with Asian food." Because, really, in Seattle is there anyone who is not familiar with at least five distinct Asian cuisines?
The man continued, "Well theres this stuff that's sort of like tempeh, in that it's made from soybeans and allowed to grow a fungus on it." I put down my sandwich and attempted to finish chewing what was left in my mouth. "But instead of creating a firm mass, like tempeh, this stuff remains a gelatinous blob, yet with a distinct mold-like odor. Some people just love it. I've had it and it's not that bad - a little chewy."
Maybe it was the color draining from my face or the buzzer going off on the kitchen microwave, but something, some act of grace, halted the man's monolog. He packaged up his breakfast, (I didn't dare look to see what it was) wished me an enjoyable meal and walked out of the lunch room, leaving me to ponder what had just happened. How many variants of this particular conversation have I heard before and thought nothing of it? How many times, God forbid, have I been the guy initiating small talk, the one accosting complete strangers with bizarre non-sequitor information?
That's why I need Elvis, why this year I'll be putting on my friend Danny's red, sparkly pantsuit with the high collar, why I'll be spraying my hair black and crooning out a song I barely know to a room full of 500 friends and sympathetic strangers. Because I need the silly creativity of it. The chance to exercise the other part of my brain, the chance to do something not for the moral or intellectual or financial value of it, but just for the fun of it. The chance to trade keyboard for pelvic thrust.
If you'd like to join me and a bunch of other amateurs, singing and dancing in the footsteps of a King, then buy your tickets here. I'll see you in a week, and I promise not to say a word about stinky Asian food.
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