Lunch is Not a Date

Everyone thinks when you’re an expert on a topic, you have all the answers and never make a mistake. Even better, people love to see it when you screw up as an authority on a topic. I like screwing up myself, too; it gives me plenty of good, funny stories! Like enough to fill a book… and then some. I take this moment to remind you: An expert doesn’t have all the right answers; rather, an expert shares their experiences and uses them to find the right answers and solutions. Sharing those stories illustrates the evidence supporting the solution. Here’s an amusing blunder I made just this week:

This past Tuesday, after a close victory in a heated hockey match, I headed out with my coed team to our sponsor bar, where many volleyball teams who play at a venue called Drucker, hang. I had met one of the woman on a team there a few weeks ago–a setter. Anyone who plays volleyball knows how valuable a setter is and anyone who knows even a little about me knows that I am always recruiting to maintain a strong, long list of volleyball players. When I met the woman, I gave her my email but I had not heard from her, yet; too bad, we needed a setter twice after our meeting. Now I stood before her and her team upon entering the bar. I spoke to her, holding my hockey sticks with my open duffel bag (broken zipper) draped over my shoulder. I needed to get this setter on my vball list and had to be careful; most likely, I hadn’t heard from her because she thought vball was a rouse and I was really hitting on her. (She’s quite pretty, so no doubt that happens a lot and I don’t blame her. I’ve never been a fan of the “bait & switch” technique but many ”experts” encourage it.) So I am rambling on, talking to her, her entire team watching me, as well. I notice her and her teammates’ eyes wandering to my duffel bag from time to time but don’t give it a thought. After all, I’m on a mission here to get another setter on the roster! I have no time for distractions. At the end of the five-minute chat, I gave her my cell digits. I then bid her team farewell and headed to the back of the bar to meet up with my hockey “posse.” Just before reaching the table, I adjusted my bag… and noticed that somehow, most likely because God is a Woman and she enjoys toying with me, my jockstrap–which I always bury at the bottom of the bag–had some how magically worked itself to the top. It was sitting above the bag, on top of all the contents. So, the entire time I was talking with this woman, telling her how we could use her for my undefeated Wednesday team when we needed a sub, my jockstrap, which I’ve owned for five years, wear twice a week for hockey, and have washed… oh… never, was mocking me. I laughed and shared the story with my comrades, who, of course, already knew and were smiling about it. So, if any women out there set, yeah, I still have a slot on the sub-list for another setter, so just get in touch… I promise to hide my jockstrap!

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