A middle-aged man with a middle-aged women mentions Goldshire. He explains how in Goldshire, everything is located in sensible locations. Engineering trainers. Cooking trainers! And downstairs, warlock trainers! Soon after, they leave.
Then my attention is drawn to the trio the next table over by Mr. Hubbard and philisophical machine. It’s strange stuff, a mixture of business discussion and organizational theory and emotional talk. The primary speaker is relaxed and laughing a lot. He asks a lot of questions, encouraging the small business owner to pour out his dreams while the third member of the trio, a woman, looks on. The first thing I noticed about them, when I first arrived, was the paperwork on the table: a chart and what looked like a contract and notebooks.
They’re back to Mr. Hubbard and his philosophical machine again. The businessman is so interested. He’s a self-described pessimist who used to be an optimist, who does some sort of support consulting service, and who prefers to work with charities. He used to work for Microsoft. He has a three year old.
And now they’re looking at a binder, which outlines programs and training of some sort, with pricetags attached. The businessman asks if there’s a list of benefits to the training, rather than a list of what it contains. He’s in interviewer-mode now, listening to the primary speaker explain a list of bulletpoints about his experience, and nodding with the oh-so-neutral ‘k and mm-hmm of a hardened interviewer. Maybe this is some kind of sting. I can hope. The businessman volunteered to stay until 5, earlier. Now the woman is asking questions. She’s been very quiet previously; maybe she’s an employee or partner instead of a wife?
The businessman has gone to the bathroom now. The woman confides in the primary speaker that they own everything. She’s definitely involved with the businessman in some intimate fashion, or wants to be. She’s been taking very careful notes.
*sigh* There are better things to do with my time than this. It’s educational but I’m tired, and there’s not a pen or napkin to be found (where I might scribble a handy url for somebody else to find).