Why I Will Never Be on America's Next Top Model

I could give you 1,001 obvious reasons why this is so but let's go for something a little more subtle: I have been criticized for my walk. It will not cut the mustard in Milan nor at the Happy Cappy Investment Team. Let me explain.

Stone Cold Killer informed me of a study that was recently done. Some company with too much money and too much time on its hands, but not enough brain cells, hired some type of weirdo consulting firm to study its workplace and come up with some type of crazy horseshit that would make the company more productive. Well kudos to that consulting firm because they come up with some bonkers shit! (For the record, I'm not one to throw around exclamation points all willy nilly.) You know, the type of crazy shit that rich people overpay for when the economy's NOT in the tank. (Did I mention we have a physical therapist that comes in and gives massages? Unfortunately, while the Happy Cappy Investment Team is one big happy family--minus the family member who was just fired--not every family member here is eligible for good touches.)

I've just been schooled by Stone Cold Killer on how one can learn a lot from an employee's walk. The description given to me was not that of it being the window to the soul, but it's pretty high up there. Apparently, this is going to be the stuff of ground-breaking PhD theses in the years to come.

An employee's posture, speed with which he or she walks, their movements and gestures, all these things are just chock full of informative goodness when it comes to evaluating an employee's job satisfaction, "team spiritness" (not a word), job-related ambition even. Does how someone walk in a bedroom reveal their sexual ambitions? I wonder...

Needless to say I kept my verbality to a minimum as I couldn't quite fathom how a government-trained assassin was giving me lessons on body-language. This is a man that has probably killed contacts just based on the way they reached for their cup off of coffee.

So, of course, I nodded--but how did I nod? What did my nod say?--and left his office in my most upbeat walk possible, the type of walk that would've gotten kids beaten up in my neighborhood growing up, agreeing to work on my walk like I'm some developmentally challenged five-year-old that never quite mastered crawling.

Oh, and that company that paid for this ridonculous study? They went kaablooey a couple of weeks back. As it turns out, we humans haven't yet mastered the art of reading the body language of shitty mortgages.