Lost in San Gabriel

I met with a friend of a friend today. Well, perhaps of an acquantance of a friend. Which would make him...a strange guy.

I met him at a pool party, ya' see. We got to talking while I worked off a buzz, and he detected a bit of job dissatisfaction. Perhaps it was something I said. Could it have been, "When I'm at work, I think of ways to kill myself so I don't have to work anymore," or perhaps, "I hate work so much, I think of cutting off my fingers so I can't type or dial on the telephone," that made him think this? Mayhaps.

So he wanted to help me, he said. I couldn't figure out how. Successful guy. Said he did interesting work that he enjoyed, and he'd be happy to help me find the job I wanted that would fulfill me as a person. So I went out to his office.

It turns out he knows EVERYONE. All the big business people in Los Angeles. He asked what I wanted to do. He expected an answer better than, "Anything but what I'm doing now?"

"What do you have a passion for?" he asked.

Hmmmm. "Writing. I love writing." Okay, well, he knows a bunch of people in newspaper publishing and someone could definitely help me out, but perhaps he saw this look on my face. A sort of disinterested, dazed look.

And he showed me these lists of people he can contact--CEOs of large and small organizations, city managers of local towns, mayors, owners of businesses, etc. He basically told me that all I had to do was say what industry I was interested in going into. And I couldn't answer.

I was just stuck on how many business cards he had. He had a book of thousands of business cards (now including mine) with handwritten notes, like, "Friend of Jeff Garneflecky," and "Rotary club, member of my church," and more. Little notes that jogged his memory in this large network. A human network. Hmm.

"That's a lot of business cards," I remarked. There had to be about a thousand, all neatly organized and cross-referenced. "You're very organized."

"And yet I'm not an organized person," he said. And he gave me a long, intense look. I really wanted to leave, but found this too bizarre. "When you have a passion for something, you do what you have to. I have a passion for networking."

"How long have you...been doing this?"

"Since I was 22. It is what I do best, and it's what I have a passion for. I'm not organized, but since it's my passion, I have to do what makes it work. And for it to work, I have to organize it. And I can connect people," he said. Another intense stare.

"What did you do to learn all this?" I asked, somewhat amazed at this strange passion. It was strange. Here someone told me his passion was CONNECTING people.

"I love networking, Ryan. I read all the magazines, and all the books. Networking Monthly, Bloomberg, Fast Company, Social Networking, Business Week (for the office), and...blah blah blah." He reeled off about 15 other social networking magazines, and titles of books on social networking. We continued talking. I heard more about his obsession with social networking--something he eats, drinks, and concentrates on.

I did not seek his help. I don't think I wanted his help. Instead, I displayed great ambivalence regarding my future and desired career path, and then left. He had a look on his face like I'd completely wasted his time--which is fine, because I don't want to be another line in someone's vast, bizarre social network.

I think he wasted my time. Of course, I figure that my time is worth less than most other people's. So I wasted more of his time-value than he did mine; this, of course, suits me well.

At least I got something out of it, right?