I’m not, by most accounts, a classy guy.
I don’t dress particularly well, I use an old cardboard box as a bedroom nightstand, and my eating habits are so poor that one of my two best friends in the world recently requested I photograph the contents of my refrigerator and email them to her so she could put them on her blog to allow her “high-minded” readers the chance to “find endless supplies of amusement at the absurd notion that someone with such a ridiculously unrefined culinary pallet could inaccurately convince himself that he is leading a worthwhile existence*.”
So naturally, I was less-than-enthusiastic when just two weeks into a new sports writing job, my employer “suggested” I spend a rare night off attending a Chamber of Commerce-sponsored business casual shindig of “all the Big Whigs of (my residing) county,” some of whom I would be expected to make professional connections with.
The evening garnered mixed results.