After blundering my way through corporate etiquette on my first day at the convention, I am ready to hit Bourbon Street. But as I pack up the booth, my boss says to me, "You know, your registration includes a pass to attend General Colin Powell’s speech tomorrow morning."
Translation: "You will attend General Colin Powell’s speech tomorrow morning."
The convention program lists the speech at 8:00am sharp. I decide that the French Quarter will have to wait until my second evening.
Like a good little corporate assistant, I show up on time and find that first I must sit through General Powell’s opening act: an hour-long presentation by pharmaceutical company executives. I am not happy. This is like showing up to hear the Rolling Stones and first having to sit through Ethel Merman practicing the scales.
Even the opening act has an opening act. The lights go down, and the show begins with a 5-minute movie about New Orleans. It shows lots of beautiful scenery, buckets of crawfish, colorful parades, and lots of people drinking. The audio is very bad, so I can’t understand a word the announcer is saying. But I’m pretty sure it’s the usual travel agent-speak in a big booming travel-agent voice:
"Have you been dreaming of a vacation of scarfing down crawfish and throwing up on a street full of drunk people engaged in public nudity? Welcome to New Orleans! The Land of Daiquiris. Lots and lots of daiquiris! And drag queens! And strip bars! What more could a sex-crazed family of compulsive gamblers and alcoholics ask for? You’ll find it all here in New Orleans! Yes, New Orleans: the atmosphere of yesterday’s Europe enjoying a taste of tomorrow’s Cajun cooking along the muddy riverbanks of today. Or something like that. Come visit us! And remember, in New Orleans, underwear is optional!"
The Program Director, a petite blonde woman in big glasses, takes the podium. Right away, I know something is wrong. She looks frightened. She obviously does not like public speaking. After taking one panic-stricken look at the audience, she glues her eyes to one of the teleprompters and does not remove them for the remainder of the hour.
It’s fascinating and scary to watch. As she presents the State of the Pharmaceutical Industry address, she is reading everything in a monotone off the teleprompter. It’s eerie. She looks like she’s been hypnotized by the machine. The teleprompter is her only friend. Without it, she would have to make eye contact with us, the Evil Audience Members. She will read anything that thing tells her to.
Her dependency grows. As she introduces the next speaker, she reads in her just-had-a-lobotomy voice, "This next man is not only a valuable contributor to our industry, he is also my dear friend."
I don’t know if this is true or not, since the teleprompter owns her and makes her say these things. She would read any amount of corporate sentiment that screen flashes at her. "I have secretly lusted for this man for many years. Weeping at night with desire for his strong, muscular arms to crush me to his chest. Needing him to awaken every erotic desire within me and turn me into an insatiable goddess of passion. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome..."
It gets even scarier. She is joined by an English gentleman who stands next to her, and they begin reading a friendly conversation off the teleprompter, complete with pleasantries and jokes. They’re not even looking at each other. I feel like I’m watching an experiment in mind control.
At one point, the man cracks a joke, and I guess the teleprompter has stage directions built in ("Laugh, damn you, LAUGH!!") because the woman breaks out in a nervous giggle bordering on hysteria. Nobody in the audience laughs because we are growing frightened for her. We do not want to laugh. We want to rescue her by rushing the stage, smashing the teleprompter, and sending her off for de-programming.
Finally, she is released from the screen’s glare and leaves the stage. We applaud her escape. But the danger is not over yet. No, now another gentleman gets onstage with a gold plaque and announces that the convention directors would like to present this woman with an award for all her hard work. He asks the poor woman to...it still makes me shudder to remember this...come back up on stage to accept the award and say a few words.
I want to raise my hand and ask why they can’t be more merciful and just shoot her in the head.
Thank God she keeps it brief. I miss most of it because I can’t bear to watch, and she’s mumbling too low for the microphone to pick up. The teleprompter is blank, a former savior that has now thrown her to the wolves. She scurries off the stage with her award. I just know that I’ll see her later that night in the middle of Bourbon Street, drunk out of her mind, smashing that award to smithereens with a microphone stand she’s stolen from the House of Blues.
To be honest, I’m emotionally drained at this point, so it’s hard for me to get excited when General Powell is introduced. However, the crowd is pumped. They love this man. They love him so much, they applaud everything he says.
Announcer:
Ladies and Gentlemen, our keynote speaker, General Colin Powell.
(Audience leaps into 5-minute standing ovation.)
General Powell:
Thank you. Thank you very much.
(Audience breaks into 5-minute round of applause.)
General Powell:
It’s an honor to be here with you all in New Orleans –
(Audience breaks into applause, hoots and whistles.)
General Powell:
Umm, thanks. When I was a young boy growing up in New York City –
(Audience interrupts with applause. General Powell is starting to look annoyed.)
General Powell:
Could I just finish a senten—
(Applause, foot-stomping, cheering)
General Powell:
You people are idiots.
(Standing ovation)
General Powell does manage to finish his speech, and I learn a lot about the man. He honestly cares about how kids are brought up in this country. He’s been honored with Knighthood by Queen Elizabeth. ("No big deal for me," he says, "but I’ve been getting some serious attitude from Lady Powell." ). Hasbro has made an action figure of him. ("NOT a doll," he says emphatically, "an ACTION FIGURE.") I really like this guy.
But here is the most incredible thing I learn about him: He’s on the Board of Directors for America Online.
Here is my golden opportunity. Microphones are set up in the aisles for the audience members to step up and ask questions. Finally, I can get the answers I truly want from General Colin Powell, Congressional Advisor.
Moderator:
General Powell, the next question is from Jennifer Layton of North Carolina.
Me:
Um, yeah. With all the billions of dollars AOL spent on upgrades, why is it I still
can’t get more than one attachment per e-mail? And why do I keep getting script error
messages if the web site I’m opening has anything more complicated than a hit
counter? And by the way, ever since I downloaded the 5.0 version, my "Favorite
Places" function doesn’t work anymore. Can you advise President Clinton about
this?
Sound of the Gun My Boss Uses to Shoot Me
From Her Seat:
Bang.
I decide not to risk it. Besides, I’ve got first shift at the booth this morning.
Next week: Jennifer finally gets to the French Quarter. We mean it this time. And like we promised last week, she also learns the meaning of life through Tabasco Sauce, which prompted Net Wit Ben Baker to respond "When I want hot spicy food, I just add your picture, and my food is as hot as I can stand it." (Hey ladies, Ben has an unattached brother living in Florida!)
Copyright 2000 by Jennifer Layton
