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headhunter feed bag

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-eight years and a million words

So I was dragged to this little function that a head-hunter put on last night. To my amazement, it was a pretty good time. We turned and were fed and given free drinks and not given any song and dance about work or the industry or whatever. Of course, we were late to the do, so maybe this wasn't such an accomplishment.

I mean, they were dolling out cake and huge slices of pie and whatnot. Pie that would not have shamed Mary-Ann from "Gilligan's Island".