After my whirlwind event on Tuesday night at the launch of Greenstone Media (more stories to follow, once I get my hands on a couple of pictures for the post … just to give a flavor, have you ever been to an event with Gloria Steinem, the lead singer of Twisted Sister and Deborah Norville all in attendance?!? ), I spent the night in New York and had a whole day to walk around Manhattan enjoying myself before boarding a plane back home.
I took off from my hotel and wandered down a few streets, finally ending up in front of Radio City Music Hall. Thinking they would have some popular musical act playing, I walked closer to look at the billboards out front. To my amazement, it was the World Business Forum. Always nosy and curious, I thought I would try to sweet-talk my way in and see who was speaking.
The burly security guards at the outside door asked me what I was doing, and I coyly said I wanted to go register. After searching my purse, they let me through, then I asked the registration people if they had a written program. Much to my delight, they sent me inside the lobby.
Now I was feeling downright conspiratorial. I walked up to the information booth and grabbed a program. I opened it up and found out the following people were speaking that day:
I adore Jim Collins, having heard him speak before, would love to hear Malcolm Gladwell for the first time, and President Clinton … who wouldn’t want to hear him speak in person?
As I watched the exceptionally-dressed, arrogantly confident and Blackberry and cellphone-carrying international participants, I had a fantasy of crashing a session.
At the time for the question and answer, I would boldly stand up and say:
With all due respect (name), do you actually believe that any of the participants here are going to implement the great ideas they learn on people, innovation, creativity and philanthropy? Aren’t they more likely to go on being MORE of an asshole now that they have rubbed shoulders with other top executives at a swishy event in New York?
Alas, my fantasy was rudely interrupted when I glanced down and realized that I was wearing jeans, a distinctly non-power suit attire that would foil my plan to wiggle my way into a session without paying. (morally wiggle, not inappropriately wiggle, just to clarify! 🙂
So, dream dashed, I walked out of the event and went on to other New York adventures.
It was a sweet fantasy while it lasted.