Life of the Lintee Bean

I recently attended a conference for work. For the final session, for reasons I no longer remember, I signed up for a session on engaging an audience. I resist speaking/presentations at all costs (including career advancement), so I’m a bit perplexed as to why I signed up for the session. I guess I just thought after two and a half days of presentations on health insurance and disability insurance, I’d want to listen to something a little less complex, maybe even engaging (if the presenter knew his or her subject matter).

Well, it wasn’t the session I imagined. Within minutes of walking in, the presenter announced that we’d each be presenting to the group. The topic: What do you like to do, how did you get interested in it, and why do you think others would like to do the same?

Not good. I thought about lying. Maybe I could say my interest was karate or dancing. Of course, one look at me would tell them all I wasn’t being entirely truthful. I tried to think of something else, but worried someone would ask a question I’d be unable to answer. I decided to go with the truth, and hope for the best. Or, better yet, hope we ran out of time before we all had a chance to speak. Besides, I’m among a group of other insurance industry professionals, surely we all were boring and lacked anything interesting to talk about.

People started volunteering to be first. They were good. Really! They had outside hobbies. The couple that really didn’t have an interesting outside hobby made a joke of it, and everyone laughed. Time wore on, and I desperately began figuring how much time we had left and how many of us hadn’t presented, and soon came to the realization it was unlikely I’d get out of getting up front. I didn’t want to be last, so as the volunteers were exhausted, I found myself reluctantly raising my hand.

“I’m Lynette, and my interest is in feline nutrition and chronic disease management.”

It was met with absolute silence. I explained how I was your basic crazy cat lady, as was probably obvious by the cat fur on my clothing – even days after I’d left town for the conference. I tried to make a joke about my “reputation” even among other crazy cat ladies, as the crazy cat lady with a cat that wore pants.

My little “joke” was met with more silence, and stares. I finished up quickly, noting that I had no idea why anyone else might be interested in feline nutrition and chronic disease management – but with the internet available to us all now, at least we can all find others who share our passions.

I sat back down, and it was silent for the moment. Then the leader of the session, who had been providing feedback and encouragement, just looked at me for a moment and said “I find it disturbing you have a cat that wears pants.”

He then decided we were running out of time, so the remaining attendees could just stand up quickly and note what their interest was. If only I’d waited a few more minutes! ARGH! Just my luck.