Passion

I had a lunch meeting with a charming young man yesterday. He was a salesman, and thus, a good conversationalist. It was a pleasant enough afternoon but I became aware of a certain deficit on my part.

He’s from California but moved to Michigan in the course of his career and recently married a beautiful blonde bombshell. He surfs in the summer and greatly misses the ocean. He is a snowboarder and finds the hills of Michigan anticlimactic. He climbs mountains. He mountain bikes. He loves to cook all kinds of ethnic foods.

And then he asked me what I did.

And I fumbled.

This evening, I started to think about what I do.

What do I do? I’m a master of indulgences. I wash down my vitamins with black coffee. I drink after work, and it’s not as straight forward as one might think. Champagne goes with a bag of potato chips while red wine goes with a loaf of bread. Martinis go along all by themselves. It takes standards and taste, you see.

What do I do? I sample cheeses and I eat only real butter. (Never Margarine? He asks, and I retort, Never!) I eat pesto and artichokes and lime/chili cashews. Crackers with bruchetta, crackers with tepanod, crackers with artichoke antipasto. If I’m alone and desperate, I’ll make my own sweet potato hash browns.

What do I do? I sling my arm over the chair back, sip my wine and complain that the Programming Brawler doesn’t do the vacuuming frequently enough. I purchase Japanese and French magazines to look at the pictures while I lay in the bathtub. I masturbate while swaddled in a fluffy down comforter. I read low-brow pulp novels.

But I don’t write poetry. That’s one excess even I can’t swallow.

These things passed through my mind but I rejected them, unacceptable as they are to modern business etiquette.

What do you do?

This is a question that must be answered immediately and without contemplation. It’s something a person should know in their bones. It should be answered passionately, decisively and with total commitment. Because I have no business and socially acceptable passion, I’ll simply have to make one up.

He: …and that’s why you need at least 3 different surfboards depending on weather conditions. So, enough about me, what do you do?

Me: I’m a Midwestern vocal actor. Sure, I do this advertising thing to pay the bills but my true love lies in my voice.

He: Midwestern…vocals?

Me: It sounds like a oxymoron, doesn’t it? Ha-ha. You may not realize this, but among voicemail system voice actors, I’m sort of a rockstar. Do you hear my Midwestern brogue?

He: Huh?

Me: (leaning forward with enthusiasm) Of course you don’t. That’s the whole point. Can you imagine calling in to check your visa balance and navigating a voicemail system with a southern accent? Laughable! Scottish? Aussie? Ha! Never.

He: (leaning back in the booth, looking stunned or confused) Uh-huh…

Me: Listen to this, (closing my eyes, lifting my face slightly), Your call is important to us. Please stay on the line for the next available representative.

See? Clear. Enunciated. Ordinary. Soothing.

He: So, you do voicemail systems?

Me: Yep. But I try not to limit myself. I’ve done commercial voiceovers and dubbing for TV and movies. Waterhouse approached me with an audio book last year, but I turned it down. Do you realize how time consuming an audio book is?

He: You must travel quite a bit.

Me: Are you kidding?! I just have to go to the sound booth downtown. It’s all digital now.

He: Whoa. You are so cool.

And that, folks, is why anyone worth their salt should know their own passion.