Lately I have been inundated with business cards. I do not know why people are constantly handing them out to me. My appearance does not connote power and wealth the way I understand it, as I am usually unshaven and wearing a ragged Speed Racer t-shirt. But my wallet is growing heavy with all the business cards I have received.
Just in the last week a pianist, acupuncturist, and a life coach all handed me a business card on separate occasions. If that trio entered a bar with a rabbi and a Puerto Rican you’d have the beginnings of a decent joke.
Often times I am asked for a business card when I mention I am a writer. People seem disappointed when I have nothing to hand them. I suppose there is still an audience desperate for printed matter as long as the message is written on a card that is two inches long and three and a half inches wide.
One time though I did print out a bunch of business cards with my name, phone number, and e-mail address. I could never sense the proper time to hand one out. I only had a limited number of cards and I could not figure out who was worthy to receive one, so they stayed in my closet unused for years until I was packing for a friend’s wedding in Spain and I stumbled upon them.
I decided to bring the cards along as I had heard the Spanish love to network over a cold bowl of Gazpacho. On the airplane ride to Europe I found myself immersed in a conversation and when we parted ways I had a method on how we could keep in touch, I handed over a business card. I suddenly became less stingy with them. I don’t know if it was the realization that I could always print out more of them or the fact that I was intoxicated for the entire month I was over there, but I handed those cards to half the Iberian peninsula. I never got any work from it, but I do receive late night collect calls in Spanish from time to time from some guy named Juan Loco.