Networking

The speaker receives a tepid round of applause because we're all desperate for a piss.

An invisible technician changes the slide. Lunch and your opportunity to network!

I sprint to the loo and spy the sandwiches being wheeled in, already wilting from cling film sweat.

I'm back.

The room is a rabid hive.

I shuffle down the buffet table and take a bite of an organic pear. It tastes like chicken. 

I avoid the smiling gaze of the lady beside me. Her badge announces she's from a rival organisation.

Loyally, I ignore her while keeping her in my sights with side-eye. She's wearing a short red dress that desperately squeeze her curves.

I throw her a quick, leave-me-alone grin.

She throws back glistening lips laced with food grease.

Delegates float about behind me. I’m in the way of the buffet. Their looks ask when I'll stop greedily hovering.

Never! I announce, by shoving a sundried tomato pastry into my mouth. It tastes like chicken.

I'm not moving. I won't be wading out into the sea of strangers hiding staged LinkedIn profiles in their pockets.

I don't network. Computers network. But, I will need to bring back at least one business card that isn’t mine.

I devour a skinny chicken wing and face the sexy lady head on.

She winks at me. She tells me her name. She says: I hate this shit.

I smile and take a step towards her. I think: networking is OK, if you’re curious.