Promotional Events are Fun

Your intrepid friend attended a promotional event covered by the magazine for which she interns. Accompanied by the super-cool photographer and dressed in a reasonable facsimile of high-class duds (thanks to a "Attention customers, the store will be closing in five minutes" frenzied trip to Century), I breezed into the facility and commenced eyeballing the freebie tables, the other attendees, and the objects of my journalistic intention.

And oh, mama, were those objects spectacular. I couldn't take my eyes off of them. You seen one roomful of greaseball suits and their stripper girlfriends, you seen way more than you ever wanted. I did avail myself of the Veuve, to be sure, but was otherwise unmoved by the luxury freebies or the aggressive flacks hired to shill for them. These objects are meant for billionaire eyes, and they are the absolute zenith of their industry. These objects stir awe in the most jaded of hearts. I got closer than 97% of the people at this soiree to these products, thanks to my decision to befriend the people closest to these products.

I talked to the security guys, the set up guys, the greaseball suits' assistants. Instead of approaching the shiny, bleached, waxed, and Botox'd invitees who threw attitude all around, I approached the weirdoes, the darling older couple, and the awkward foreigners. That's how I got my story -- the real story.

My first byline at this magazine.

I could plotz!