We’re a bit of a one-company town here. It’s easy to avoid it if you want to, of course, but you can’t deny that there are a large number of legislative staff and assorted state employees. And while I’ve heard that IBM men counted on the wife to have an evening martini shaken and ready for a home-based happy hour, here in Sacramento, we pursue such refreshments elsewhere. Like bars.
You can’t just go into a bar unarmed, though. You gotta have a card. Within the Capitol, there’s a certain coded language within the 3×5 or so confines of recycled paper. Start with that, for instance. Some offices have “recycled” stamped on the back. Some have gold seals, others just blue seals. Some have countless offices worth of information, others a simple, name, rank, and email. Some even are embossed with braille translations.
Cue that scene in American Psycho where one’s worth is instantaneously determined by the silent cues of weight, font, and shade.
But what if you don’t have a card? Or have one you can’t use for the purpose you have in mind?
Enter Moo Mini-cards - the half-size card for full-sized personalities that just need to convey more than “Senate gunner” or “suave solicitor.” If you follow these things then - we’re going from business cards to bluetoothing vital stats and blackberrying our interest across the clouded bar and now back to business cards, but less so. And more so. Or maybe not so. Only time will tell.
A friend once rolled her eyes at a guy who gave his business card as a way to pass on his contact information (I know). But writing on a bar napkin seems a bit of a gamble - why not something more personal and more of a conversation piece? Or would you assume “player” and exit the game?