In the fall of 2007, just over three months before Whoa, My
Boss is Naked was published, I was given the opportunity to speak at a college
3 hours away from my house. I was
really excited about it. Throughout
the summer I had been reaching out to college career centers in order to drum
up interest for my book and find audiences on which to hone my keynote
material. When this particular college (which shall remain nameless) expressed
interest, I jumped at the chance to address their students (for free).
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The guy who booked me - let’s call him “Professor Dupe” -
sounded really enthusiastic on the phone.
I was just what the students needed, he said. They were nearing their mid-terms and my pop culture-infused
career advice would provide them with a nice change of pace. Dupe penciled me
in for a 30-minute presentation.
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Upon arriving at the school three weeks later, I was
surprised to discover that the “satellite campus” was actually a converted
dentists’ office located in the shadow of a strip mall. When I checked in with the office staff, I was even more
surprised to discover that Professor Dupe was out of town and, in his haste to
pack, had failed to mention to ANYONE that I existed.
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At this point, another instructor at the school (who had
been eavesdropping from the hallway while attempting to dislodge a reluctant Honey
Bun from the vending machine) ducked her head into the office and suggested
that I speak to her Business class.
Given the way things were shaping up, it probably would have been wise
to politely decline her offer, grab some cheap tacos to-go from the strip mall,
and head back home. Unfortunately,
I was done in by her eloquent flattery (“sounds neat’) and my own desire to
salvage the day.
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It is important to
note that my presentation material was geared toward vaguely
ambitious early-‘20s college graduates who had grown up watching cable
television in the ‘80s and ‘90s.
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There were roughly 12 people in the Business class. Their median age was roughly 42. Several did not speak English. My surprise
presentation meant that there would be no cigarette break. I opened with a joke about “The
Bachelor”. I did not get a rose.
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The next 20 minutes were more awkward than slow dancing in
junior high (and involved less eye contact). I don’t want to get into the blow-by-blow details of the
presentation but I will tell you that the first question posed during Q&A
was “We ain’t gonna get tested on this stuff, right?” All the students were visibly relieved when I told them that
they wouldn’t be responsible for retaining anything I had said.
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This was my test, not theirs.
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I learned several valuable lessons during my awkward
afternoon at Dupe’s College of Chain-Smoking, but one stood out:
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PRESENTATIONS MUST BE NIMBLE
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As a speaker, you need to be prepared to change your
script. Sometimes the mood and
make-up of the audience is different than you had expected (as was the case at
Dupe’s). Venue variables like
technical difficulties, awkward spaces, lighting, and acoustics often come into
play as well. You need to be able
to adjust your style to fit the event.
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Preparing a nimble presentation means over-preparing. Develop back up material (anecdotes, jokes, visuals, statistics) that you can utilize to enhance your presentation on the fly.
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Read audiences, not note cards.
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Finally, don’t allow yourself to be fazed by a hostile or
apathetic audience. Never let ‘em
see you sweat…even if they’re allowed to bring firearms to class.