Last week I sat through a half-hour interview for a freelance graphic designer slot now open at a small marketing agency here in Greenville. I didn’t catch the name of the lady conducting the interview or even the name of her agency, but I lose no points for that because she wasn’t talking to me. I was overhearing the interview from my table in the Red Room at the Coffee Underground and gathered that the agency is looking for a designer with writing ability who sometimes might serve as creative director on a per-project basis. In other words, they’re looking for me.
So why, you might ask, didn’t I write my name and email address on a slip of paper and hand it to her? Two reasons: 1.) I think that scribbling contact information on scraps of paper is graceless, and 2.) I do have a few compassionate bones left in my body. The young man being interviewed was so quiet and awkward that I couldn’t bring myself to sucker punch him, which any contact with the agency lady in his presence inevitably would have been. I decided that my best and only course of action was to follow them out of the restaurant, wait for them to part ways, then approach her out of sight of him to hand her a business card, saying “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation and I think I might be what you’re looking for.” But, owing to nothing more than laziness, I haven’t had a freelance card in years, which is why the agency lady and the prospective designer escaped unaware of my existence. Hedging against future missed opportunities, though, I designed and ordered a quantity of 250 cards yesterday, which at my current rate of need should last me until the apocalypse.
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