Three Scoops is a Blast! by Alex Carrick Read Free Book Online

pee? Where are the exits? I’m pretty sure this is the worst way ever to make a living.
     
    My father had a deep and rich manly voice. He craved listeners and attention. My voice doesn’t match his for media-quality timbre. But I’ve come to understand there are advantages in not sounding or appearing like everyone else. Thank goodness for microphones that can amplify tones even if a figurative marshmallow somehow becomes lodged in one’s larynx.
     
    Often, I’ve had to sit at a raised dais with other presenters at the front of a conference room. That’s where one can get more insight into the speaking experience. I’ve known experienced men and women who’ve thrown up with regularity just before every presentation. I’ve had to endure the cash and key janglers who make so much noise in their pockets you can’t hear what they’re saying. Then there are the guys who bold-facedly say that their slides tell it all. “Just read what I have to say.” They stand aside and leave the audience in stunned bewilderment.
     
    The worst situation occurred once when I sat beside some poor unfortunate soul who I’m sure wished he could have been anywhere else but headed for what he assumed would be public humiliation. Sitting next to him, I could not help but notice he was developing the flop sweats that stand-up comedians sometimes talk about. Then I heard some barely audible groans.
     
    What to do? If I ask if he’s alright, this will bring attention to his plight and probably make the situation worse. If I don’t say anything, he might lose all control and leap from the room or go into cardiac arrest. Then I would bear considerable responsibility. Somehow we got to the appointed time, the oblivious chairperson introduced my new “buddy” and he did miraculously manage to get through his material without too many people noticing his distress.
     
    I once read somewhere that when one passes the age of 50, the brain cells controlling anxiety start to die off. This is supposed to be a self-defence mechanism against aging and the “dying of the light”. Whether or not it’s really true, I choose to believe that such is the case. It seems to have helped me deal with anxiety better as I’ve become older. It certainly has played a role in my not being as concerned when it comes to public speaking.
     
    Here’s another factor. Most of the people I used to care so much about impressing or not letting down have left the industry, retired or are dead. That puts things in perspective. There are gruesome advantages to having such an advanced number of years under my suspenders.

 
    The Weatherman, the Economist and the Gypsy Lady
     
    December 1, 2009
     
    A weatherman, an economist and a little old gypsy lady were attending a forecasters’ convention. After all the speeches and the events of the first day, they met in a bar and had a few drinks together.
     
    As the night wore on, they challenged each other to reveal their worst forecasting errors.
     
    The weatherman spoke about how he completely missed Hurricane Katrina. He didn’t think he would ever be able to forgive himself for the oversight.
     
    “That’s nothing,” said the economist. “I blew the whole sub-prime mortgage fiasco and then completely underestimated the ensuing Great Recession. My career has been suffering ever since.”
     
    That left the gypsy lady. “I failed to foresee I would be arrested for fraud and spend a year in jail.”
     
    “That’s pretty bad, all right. How’d that happen?” said the weatherman.
     
    “I had a client who was a judge. We had a falling out and he had me arrested. Judges can pretty much get away with murder in the legal system, you know. And who’s going to believe me over a judge?”
     
    “There has to be more to the story,” said the economist. “He must have had some pretext if you were sent to jail.”
     
    “I admit I’m not really a good person. I was using some confidential information I had on the