Last night’s shing-ding

Karen’s sexy voice turned into a major cold, complete with fever, coughing and what-not.  So, she asked me to step in and take over a speaking engagement that she had committed to.

“Sure,” I said.  “Happy to.” I figured, it was the usual, introduce myself, do a short reading, and then a rousing Q&A. 

Well, last night turned out to be a little something different, not that that would ever phase me.  Something different is my middle name. 

Karen did mention that they were businessmen.  Hey, only difference between them and me is they have to wear a suit to work and I can work in anything I damn well please. 

She also said there might be an interpreter.  No problem.  I’ve done the whole interpreter thing in my old life as an actress.  Bring it on.

I emailed the guy who was setting the whole thing up on Saturday, asked a few questions, what they expected, what was the format and so on. 

Monday, I hadn’t heard back, so I emailed my friend who was languishing in her bed.  I was thinking perhaps they called the whole thing off when they found out she couldn’t come.  Nope.  Not that she knew of.  She gave me a phone number.  I called and the next thing I knew, I was chatting with a very charming Frenchman named Franck. 

Yes, it was on.  They were delighted I could come.  Yes, I could speak, read, whatever.  It was very informal.  And so on.  It was going to be a group of French bankers, from France, and they like to give them a taste of the life, the place, the people who live here.  So that it is not just doing business and numbers, but it is human, about community.

Very interesting, admirable, this was going to be fun. 

My husband, decided that he didn’t feel like going to play ball hockey after all, but would rather come and keep me company.  Right.  If I was going to speak to a knitting club, I doubt that he would have felt such a violent need to cancel. 

We arrived at the hotel a little bit early.  I brought my little purse with the dangling dancing fowl all around the opening that my sister, Jenny, gave me.  Because she bought it in Paris, and even though it clashed a bit with the dress I wore (that she also gave me) I figured if there were any female French bankers, that would probably put me in good with them.  Like, I might not know what to wear it with, but at least I had the good taste to buy such a cute purse. 

Don and I sat down in some chairs outside of the conference room that I was going to be speaking in.  Someone else was in there now, giving a very professional presentation with a projector and graphs and such. 

I didn’t have any graphs.  I didn’t have any power point presentation.  I didn’t have any stats.  All I had was me, and my sister’s purse with my books tucked inside.  Not to mention, my husband who was hovering in a testosterone induced haze of “mine” emanating from him.  Which is really quite ridiculous.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he’s delusional about how desirable I am.  It’s funny really, but I have to say, how he sees me is totally not based in reality. 

Whatever.  Who am I to pop his little bubble? 

Franck came out into the hall and we talked until it was time for me to go in. 

I wasn’t nervous at all.  Why would I be?  There was no way I could prepare.  Prepare for what?  It wasn’t like a Keynote speaker gig.  I was just supposed to talk about me, my life, my work.  Do a few questions and answers, well one can’t prepare for that either.  Someone asks a question, I open up my mouth and speak.

And I did. 

I didn’t read.  It was clear to me when 3/4 of the room went to get the little earphones to hear the interpreter that a reading would not work at all.  So I talked, and I talked and then I took some questions and then I talked some more.  And beads of sweat were popping out on the poor interpreter’s brow. 

Now when I’ve worked with interpreters before, I would answer a question and then wait for the interpreter to do his thing.  But I was told, to just keep talking and he would keep up. 

Hmm...I think a lot of what I was saying fell through the cracks.  I would answer in the long winded way that I do, and then he would say, a sentence or two. 

I don’t know if it was a disaster or not.  I don’t know how much got through.  I don’t know what exactly I was supposed to do, or if I did it. 

I do know that I had a real good time.  I do know that I couldn’t go to sleep that night.  Turning over the day in my head.  I do know that even though it was a little confusing and even slightly awkward at times, that in between the expected questions, I was asked some very interesting and unusual questions as well.  Ones that really made me think.  Like “Do you believe in God?” “Are you a political person?” “What is the differences between dancing, acting and writing and what are the similarities?” “Forgive me for asking this, but do you find Vancouver, how do I say it?  A little boring?” “If you were in charge of the world what would you do?  What changes?  What would be a perfect world to you?” “What is your philosophy of life?” And so the questions went. 

None of the women at the back of the room asked me any questions.  I was a little disappointed by that.  I usually get on with women.  Maybe they were intimidated by my purse?  HA!

Anyway, it was very interesting.  I can’t believe that they are going to pay me for the experience.  In Euros even.  Whoohoo!

Posted by Meg Tilly on Tuesday, May 20, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

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