Dork on display

I know that I'm a bona fide dork. I don't try to hide it ... too much.

I am still delusional enough to think that my general enthusiasm and butter-knife-like wit provide enough cover to get me through most situations.

But true dorkdom cannot be disguised.

I was asked by an instructor who works with Bill to come speak at her office administration class. She was under the impression that because I am an executive assistant that I have some knowledge to impart.

I agreed to speak to her class because:
I have a hard time saying no.
I'm a total ham.
I seem to feel that I don't really need to know what I'm talking about before I get up in front of a group of people.

To prepare, I made a detailed list of all the skills that I've acquired throughout my almost 20-year career of working in offices. I also outlined the qualities that I feel make a good office administrator and topics that are relevant to today's office employee, emphasizing organization, attention to detail, reliability and consistency.

Yesterday morning, I gathered my list and outlines and headed off to the class. I had placed a sticky note on my papers with the room number.

As I was walking up to the building I reached into my bag to get my notes and check the room number.

No notes.

My notes were not in my bag.

As I muttered "Damn, damn, damn" to myself, I shuffled quickly back to my car. If I didn't hurry I was going to be late.

I checked the car. No notes.

I'd lost my notes on how to be organized and detail-oriented.

Ironic, no?

Realizing I was going to have to speak extemporaneously, I scurried back toward the building, repeating my mantra, "Damn idiot. Damn idiot."

I arrived in the classroom out of breath and flustered and a little perspiry from the shuffling and scurrying. But I gathered my wit (I only have one) and began to speak.

It actually started out well. I told a relevant story about some jobs I'd held then began talking about skills, blah, blah.

Then I thought that my nose felt a little damp and when I touched my finger to that little valley that connects one's nose and upper lip I realized that my nose was runny. Yeah, 'the hell?

Now I had runny snot on my finger and nose.

And to make matters worse, I had written "CD" on my finger to remind me to pick up a CD at home on my lunch hour. I had used that finger to touch the snot coming out of my nose and quickly convinced myself that I'd transferred that ink to my face just like Mr. Pitt did on that episode of "Seinfeld."

To make matters worse, I drew attention to the whole affair by then saying, "Oh gross." and asking for a tissue.

Yeah, because I like to mortify myself like that.

All was not lost, however. I hadn't actually inked up my face and was able to finish the class without humiliating myself anymore.