Power to the People--Especially at Lunch

I just took a power lunch with Ned and Miltie. It was difficult, since Ned and I both vied for the power seat. We finally agreementized, and we both sat with our backs to the wall, leaving Miltie vulnerable, with only us to look at. Sitting next to each other, Ned and I couldn’t impact--neither of us would turn his head to acknowledge the other first. This would’ve been construed as a submissive gesture.

We took so much time maximizing our positions that there was barely time to eat. This was fine with me, as I had ordered a carrot-and-broccoli salad, and I hate carrots and broccoli. But they do make that crunching sound, which denotes them as power foods. Ned tried to One-upmanize me by ordering the same thing, only with raw onions added. I had to admit I was impressed. The onions showed that Ned was a risk-taker. He didn’t care what associates thought of how he smelled.

Ned and I both had to snicker when Miltie ordered cream-of-mushroom soup and, of all things, quiche. The creamed soup showed us that Miltie was still psychologically tied to his childhood, and I know Ned was thinking the same as I: We’d be able to pull a good deal on Miltie. It was excruciatingly obvious that Miltie still ate for pleasure, while we ate to win.

Miltie then showed us pictures of his new baby son. Although I couldn’t see Ned--we still refused to acknowledge each other’s position--I sensed him cringing. When Miltie mentioned that he loved the boy, I almost felt sorry for him, placing his head on the chopping block like that by expressing an actual feeling at lunch.

After one too many power gin-and-tonics, I excused myself for a moment and powered myself to the men’s room. This was inexcusable, for it let Ned know that I didn’t have a power bladder. I have to work on that.

Straightening my power tie in the mirror, I again conceptualized the prospect of having plastic surgery, so I could actualize one of those long, sleek power noses so much in fashion now.

Briefly, I thought about my conference this morning with my wife, Natalie. She verbalized her opinion that “The One Minute Manager” was not meant to apply in the bedroom.

Still staring in the mirror, I reflected on how things used to be simpler. I seemed to remember a time when one could actually do, say, sit and dress the way one felt, and ordering asparagus was a good experience rather than psychological warfare. I attributed this odd thought to my power bran muffin at breakfast, and let it go at that.

Returning to the table, I announced that it was time for me to leave, thereby creating the impression that I had a fully prioritized day, although this was blatantly untrue.

When the check arrived, neither Ned nor I moved to pick it up. Where once that gesture was considered generous, now it is seen as a sign of weakness. If it hadn’t been for Miltie, who casually palmed it with a common bank card, we might still be sitting there.

When he added an extravagant tip, it hit me: Miltie had actualized us on his proposals, rather than the other way around. This of course must be dismissed as a fluke, and attributed to the fact that Miltie’s proposals, unlike ours, actually made some sense. I’ll have to work on that.