Yesterday I was at a conference for work, and it featured an absolutely terrible motivational speaker. This is not to say that he wasn’t motivating people. He certainly was. I just don’t fall for that touchy-feely wrapped in a cutesy-wootsy saying bullshit. I think it’s insulting to my intelligence and takes a very ham-handed approach at simply explaining something as complicated as your fucking life.
Wow, I got pretty angry fast.
Anyway, I’m sitting there with 500 other people, and the guy starts telling his little stories, and everybody is getting into his mindset. I’m sitting there looking around and he’s got them all totally entranced. It’s like staring a bunch of zombies in the face. Glassy eyes, glazed over expression, mouths hanging open slightly in order to anticipate whether they should laugh or cry. He is a fucking puppeteer and they are all bending over and begging to have his arm up their asses.
So while he’s talking he’s walking around and touching people. At first I think he is trying to shake hands with every person in the room as he is telling his stories, but then I realize that he just wants to touch everyone. Just place a hand on their shoulder or touch their arm as he’s walking by. He’s getting closer and closer and closer to our table and he’s touching everyone as he passes. People are dying to be touched by this guy. They’re leaning toward him so they can get a better grope and I’m trying to force him to die with the power of my mind.
But he isn’t dying, and he just keeps getting closer. Then he’s two tables away and I realize I can smell him.
He must have had his sweat glands replaced with bottles of Old Spice, because he fucking reeks of the shit, and before I realize it the stinking old fucker is putting his hand on my shoulder. He’s still telling his stories, but he steps away and blows his nose into a handkerchief, and then puts his filthy fucking hand on my coworker’s back. I am repulsed. I want to set him on fire before running away and burning the skin off of my hands in bucket of acid.
He’s walking around again, still touching people, still blowing his nose, still dropping these cutesy sayings throughout. The woman sitting next to me and my coworker is writing all his shit down while dabbing her eyes with a napkin.
He reaches the end of the room and he turns around, and I can already tell that he’s heading back to my table. He touches someone and says with an air of wisdom, “You can give someone permission to have ambition,” or some other such bullshit and I can feel my brain begin to try to destroy itself. He touches someone as he gets closer and says that someone’s kindness to him was “Tattooed on my spirit.” It takes all my power to not vomit my intestines on to the table. He touches more people and tells them “You. Are. Worthwhile.” People start to cry. I wonder if swallowing a fork will kill me, then realize it will, but it’ll take too long. He touches more people and moves closer, like a bastard fuck-child juggernaut of germs and Chicken Soup for the motherfucking Soul. He says, “You can give people the keys to start the engine of their success.” I realize that self-immolation is beyond my mental capabilities.
Then he reaches me. And he touches my shoulder.
“Make every day the best day of your year.”
Touching.
“Take the baton of life and run with it.”
Touching.
“Treasure each day!”
TOUCHING.
I make no effort to conceal the revulsion on my face, but the zombies don’t even notice. They’re just lapping it all up. Suckling at his withered old teat of banality and Oprah-esque nonsense.
Hours later his small-group follow-up session is overflowing with sycophants, and in my car I realize my suit still smells like Old Spice.
