On the island of St. Croix, USVI—my native homeland—we have a saying that goes: “Hurry dog eat raw corn.” In phonetically written, local-dialect form, the saying would look (and sound) something like this: Huh-ree dawg eat rawh kahn. It simply means: those who make hasty and poorly-thoughtout decisions will reap the fruitless, sometimes harsh, repercussions thereof.
So, in the spirit of “Hurry dog eat raw corn,” this week, I wanted to highlight a few bloopers I’ve made as an editor for this fine publication over the years. Sometimes, it’s good to laugh at ourselves—actually, it’s often good to do so.
1. Hurry dog: At my very first Las Vegas PPAI Expo in 2003, I thought I could visit every single booth; talk to every single person stationed at said booths; collect every single supplier catalog; and take every single giveaway that was offered to me. To boot, I wore three-inch heels (I was told to dress professionally) the whole time I was dutifully attempting to accomplish these feats.
Eat Raw Corn: Some of you already know the repercussions of this poorly-thoughtout decision (you may have attempted do as I did). If you don’t know, here’s a hint: Every part of my body experienced the full meaning of a nasty little word that begins with ‘P’ and rhymes with, let’s see, ‘Insane!’
2. Hurry Dog: Some years ago, I had a brilliant idea to write a three-part series on PPAI’s international arm, consisting of the promotional products’ associations of Canada, the UK, Mexico, Australia/New Zealand and Europe. Well, being that English, and English alone, is my first and second and third (you get the point) language, one would think a responsible journalist would enlist the help of a Spanish-speaking colleague to assist with contacting the, let’s say, Asociación Mexicana de Profesionales de la Promoción … whose obvious language of origin would be Spanish …
Eat Raw Corn: Nope. In fact, I did just the opposite. I contacted Asociación Mexicana de Profesionales de la Promoción all by my English-speaking self. I sat at my desk and watched my fingers pick up the receiver, dial the country code for Mexico and then the association’s telephone number. I soon heard the phone ring and a short time thereafter, a kind receptionist answered, “Hola!” I don’t know why I was so surprised she answered in Spanish and that every other word following “Hola!” was in Spanish. After an unsuccessful tango between broken English and Spanish (on both my and the receptionist’s part) I said, “Adios,” and hung up in sheer bewilderment. Suffice to say, I never got through to the association’s president!
I can assure you that I’ve done my fair share of hurrying and have had more servings of raw corn than anyone would want!
Well, that’s the joke for the day, folks—it’s on me. Do write back and let me know if you’re enjoying, (tolerating or hating), the blog.
‘Til we chat again…
-Cynthia
