Film and Television Rights: Business Cards

So I'm picking up my business cards today. Why I'm excited about this I'm unsure. They are not technically business cards--since I am not in business.

I haven't carried a business card in many years--just never bothered to order any from the companies I've worked for--since I don't technically do any business outside the office (and never have)--and why would I give a card to a co-worker? If a co-worker were stranded somewhere and had no access to the internet or the office phone system and desperately needed to contact me to ask if he or she could borrow my stapler, a card would help, but no, that rarely happens. Plus, the least amount of people who actually know what I do to earn a living, or would easily remember by referencing my corporate business card, the better. Let there be some mystery in life. "What's that guy do?" "I don't know, if only I had his card."

When I was a baby office drone, oh so many years ago, I was incredibly giddy about possessing business cards and the titles they bore, as if I'd gained entry to a new and dressy, but casual, khaki-colored country. I'd practice whipping my card out like I was carrying a six-shooter. Look, there's my name with the office logo and that important sounding "Associate" emblazoned on it. I ordered thousands. It didn't take long to learn Associate meant people in the office acted as if they were condescending to a special-needs person when they associated with me. "Aw, you wrote a memo, good for you, you'll always succeed as long as you try."

After a few years and several jobs, I had multiple boxes of outdated 2 by 3.5 inch contact information to toss. I thought about finding some other use for them; collage maybe, model architecture? Well, yes. But no.

Actually, I did have a business at one time, sort of. I hung my shingle, put my number in the yellow pages, got a business license with the accompanying onslaught of telemarketing from various insurance companies and whoever-the-hell-else the city sold my new business license info. But alas, I failed quickly, or moved, depending on how I care to remember it; but before that happened, I spent an inordinate amount of time and money designing and printing a very fancy business card. "So how's business?" "Well, I made this card." It was double-sided, had a side flap, famous quotes, sang a tune, and a picture of my dog. It was a masterpiece. I have one bent and faded copy buried somewhere with my school transcripts and love letters to Kim Deal, but the rest were tossed.

The other day I saw an ad for a deal on business cards, and thought it would be a good way to remember my cel phone number, so I called them, and minutes later emailed a PDF file of a newly-designed card. There are no titles on it, no company name or logo, no folds, flaps, or anything on the back. It's just my name and how to get in touch with me, and, of course, a picture of my dog.

I'm off to pick them up now. I ordered the smallest amount they offered, which is more than enough. I'm happy to give you one if I see you.

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