Notes on Professionalism.

Hello, everyone. So things look a little different around here. In order not to fill your facebook homepage with tedious updates relating to Vessel's publication, I'm turning this into my official author's blog. Why? Because, by god, it was just easier than making a new blog.

But Tom! you say. What will become of your posts about naked men finding their way into your kitchen pantry? And the ones about mailing pictures of butts to Chase Bank? Where will they go? Now that you're a professional and all?

Easy, darling. Those old posts are still right here, safe and sound. And there are more unsavory posts (and more naked men, one hopes) to come. I promise. Vessel may be top priority, but I'll always have other things to talk about.

Is that professional? I believe so. I've been giving that word a lot of thought lately, and it's my understanding that professionalism--in its purest, most efficient form--simply involves being direct and honest about the objective. Most of us get distracted by thoughts of turtleneck sweaters, the handshake, and whatever the hell 'SYNERGY' is. But all those things are superfluous; attempted shortcuts to professionalism. Hot air. Bullshit. And worst still, those things have provided a steaming foundation of bullshit for the "excellence in business" profession. A useful trade to follow, I guess, if you're sitting next to Trump every day.

But down here? It's just created a bunch of nervous, frightened people putting on cashmere and blank smiles, hoping they won't be found out as amateurs. We're all one backwards powerpoint slide away from screaming "I don't know what the hell I'm doing!!!" and attacking the closest bystander with a Sigma Six stapler. I'll be the first to say it. I majored in business management. I've run small businesses for the past three years. I've sat through HR courses and seminars and mixers and weekly networking groups and yes, I've gleaned the occasional useful nugget. But I'm being honest here. And most of it was some sweaty guy with a tie standing in front of us girls, talking about nothing. Nothing. For hours. And I paid for it. I'm still paying for it ($11,000 in student loan debt).

Look people, a prostitute can be professional. It has nothing to do with turtleneck sweaters. While in the dressing room of a Broadway boutique favored by many ladies of the evening, I overheard the following end of a phone conversation:

Prostitute: (answering phone) "Hello? Oh, hey baby, how you doin? Of course I remember you...Tomorrow? Tomorrow's great. How bout 11? I got a friend, you want my friend there, too? Great. See you tomorrow. Bye, love."

See? She was accessible, complimentary, accommodating, and direct. Now you may think I'm just being cute here, but she really was all those things. She even successfully upped the sale by tacking the friend onto the deal. I would rather follow her example of professionalism than Jeffrey Gitomer's any day. I mean, look at the guy. Would you dial that? Even if the friend came, too?

Worry not. I'm not going to self-destruct, here. I know how to cross my ankles when the situation calls for it. I'm polite by nature, direct by practice, and capable of googling what I don't know. That's all I need. No bullshit. I came here to sell a book. So that is what I will do.