It’s been five years and I can still remember how much I hate Human Resources. The pettiness. The mediocrity. The skanky bitches in payroll. Every poor decision in my life — from opting out of law school to following a paycheck instead of a pursuing a purpose in my life — was amplified by the fact that I had to come to work every day, swallow my pride and pretend like my organization gave a shit about its people.
Cognitive dissonance gave birth to my career as a writer. And my career as a writer has given me the opportunity to attend the Annual SHRM Conference & Exposition [SHRM] every year since 2008.
And I love SHRM.
When a man is tired of HR conferences, he is tired of life. I love this event because it gives me a chance to reconnect with old HR friends and colleagues in a very natural way — on the dance floor and in seedy bars at the break of dawn.
I have stories from this year’s SHRM conference but they aren’t really my stories to tell. And most of the stories are the same. They start with some white woman on the dance floor with a big, flat ass and end with a bizarre love triangle and a fight.
I could be talking about SHRM or a wedding in my family.
I just make this face and solider on.
Every year, it’s sorta the same. We are back once again for the renegade master that is SHRM; we end the conference with ill behavior. Alcohol and jet lag make it weird, yes, and social media gives our community a false sense of intimacy. When we get together, our interactions result in awkwardness and low drama.
But I don’t mind. I try to remind myself that an alcoholic is someone you don’t like who drinks as much as you do. And I know for a fact that crazy stuff happens at the Aspen Ideas Festival and the Goole I/O conference. At SHRM, it’s just less important and impactful.
So I’ll give you my quick journey that was #SHRM12. I started out with a bruised thigh from trying to block my suitcase from falling down an escalator at the Salt Lake City airport.
Sexy. I know.
Then I had a bunch of strange encounters with drunk men who don’t make enough money to interest me and yet operate on ego and hubris. Then I watched those very same men mock the drunk women of Human Resources who wanted to have a good time. Finally, I walked several intoxicated women to taxis and walked a strange drunk woman to her hotel room.
I also worked a little.
And in summary — I have no stories. I have nothing to tell you. And I love my friends. All of them.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
See you in Chicago in 2013 — that’s my hometown! Good things always happen to me in that city.