When I grow up…
When I grow up, I want to be a conventioneer. Bluetooth earpiece nestled in my ear canal. Lanyard wrapped around my neck, holding a laminated badge with my name and company proudly displayed. Venti Starbucks half-caf mocha (AND TWO PUMPS OF TOFFEE NUT BECAUSE I’M A GODDAMN INDIVIDUAL, PLEASE) in my hand, procured from my hotel’s affiliated coffeeshop. A mustache, trimmed perfectly. When I shake your hand, you’ll barely notice that I’ve slipped my business card in there. But I have. Because I’m a goddamn conventioneer.
