I Stepped Down As CEO Of A Fortune 500 Company To Become An Artist
Space Hassles • Obsolete Too Soon
One Minute Wit
Space Hassles
Don’t you hate it when you’re lying there minding your own business,
and an alien bursts out of your chest?
Life
Obsolete Too Soon
Do you ever feel like as soon as you buy or learn something, it’s already obsolete?
My VCR programming skills are totally going to waste.
What good is learning to wedge some wadded-up gum wrappers under an 8-track tape so it won’t play two tracks at once when you can’t buy 8-tracks anymore?
I hardly ever write code in Basic now.
Map folding classes were a complete waste of time.
My Disco moves, like my leisure suits, are collecting dust in my closet.
My white-out is all dried up.
I never use my Pacman pattern anymore.
Does anyone want to buy an adding machine?
Perhaps it’s me that’s obsolete?
Humor
I Stepped Down As CEO Of A Fortune 500 Company To Become An Artist
Being the CEO of a Fortune 500 company isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Power and money are little consolation when everyone thinks you are a joke and despises you.
Every time I went to a business conference or charity gala, I would end up ostracized by my fellow CEOs. It was always the same thing. Those high-and-mighty business executives would ask me what I did, and I would tell them I was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Their eyes would light up as they imagined companies like General Motors, or AT&T, or Boeing. That was followed by them asking me which company I was CEO of.
I told them, “You don’t understand. The name of my company is A Fortune 500 Company. And I am the CEO.”
Then their facial expression went from bewilderment to realization to disgust.
They obviously didn’t understand promotion or productivity.
What do the success gurus always say? Imagine what you want your company to be and work toward that. That’s what I did!
What do the promotional gurus always say? Present a professional image so potential customers will think you are professional. That’s what I did!
Despite their annoyance, some would actually bow to social convention and ask me what my company made. I would say, “Fortunes. Hopefully, 500 of them.”
The conversation usually ended there.
After several hundred of these events and noticing that I wasn’t on track to make even one fortune [business tip: have an actual product or service to sell.] I figured it might be time to try something else.
So I put my brain box to work thinking about what else I could do to make a fortune or 500. Then it hit me like a wet towel in Jr. High gym class. Become an artist!
The great thing about being an artist is no one really knows what that entails. Sort of like a CEO. I could be a painter, writer, musician, moviemaker. Or sing and dance in the park while throwing acorns at squirrels and call it a performance art ballet opera. You name it. It’s all art.
And the easy money! Come on.
It is common knowledge that Vincent van Gogh’s paintings sell for millions of dollars before they get stolen. Fiction writers like Stephen King are filthy rich. Songwriter Bob Dylan just sold the publishing rights to his songs and is now worth around half a billion dollars. How does it feel? Pretty good. I imagine.
If they can do it, why not me? How hard can it be to slap some paint on a canvas, or crank out some horror novels, or learn a few chords on a guitar and write cryptic lyrics?
So I made up my mind to become an artist.
I started my art career by trying to become a musician. Dude, those guitar strings are torture. Forget that. I didn’t want a blister on my little finger. I didn’t want a blister on my thumb. I quickly realized, that ain’t workin’. Money For Nothin’ lied. And there is no such thing as chicks for free. Old MacDonald probably knew that. And he’s not even a musician. Unless you count singing E I E I O all day. I don’t.
So I tried writing. Writing horror novels takes way too long. But I heard about this website where you could post big ideas and important stories and rake in the dough. Perfect. Readers there are going to love my fiction, I thought. Ha! I’ve seen more dough in a donut. Next!
Painting was third on my list. So I bought a dozen buckets of paint. After painting a couple of houses, I decided to switch to painting on canvas.
I began by painting landscapes. The first painting was a complete failure. I decided to move my easel outside, and the quality of my landscape work increased significantly.
I have to admit, I was initially offended when people passing by made comments like, “Is that a tree?” Or, “What planet is that supposed to be?” Then one afternoon, I Googled “painting” and discovered that I had a knack for abstract painting. See? I knew I was good!
After painting a dozen landscapes, I went to an art fair in the park and displayed my artwork. I was ready for my big payday. But all I heard the whole time was, “Do you have any crochet Bernies?”
Discouraged, I went home and decided to try a self-portrait. I didn’t want to waste the paintings I had already done, so I took one of my forest landscapes and painted myself on it.
The sun peeked through the dirty window pane of the cluttered studio illuminating the scene on the canvas. Despondency creased the forehead of the artist who, moments before, was painting his own image and was now somehow embedded in the painting. The scent of pine emanating from what appeared to be trees painted by a toddler enveloped him. Realization shuddered his very soul. His own art had become his prison. Then a second realization. This was supposed to be a 1st person narrative.
[Sorry, I just read a writing article on Show, Don’t Tell and thought I would give it a try. You’re right. I still don’t have a clue. I will get back to writing wrong now. Let’s try that paragraph again.]
As soon as I finished painting myself, I saw a blinding flash of light and found myself surrounded by some crazy-looking trees in a forest. I suddenly realized I was standing in my own painting. Was I dreaming? Was it that magic mushroom pizza I washed down with a pint of whiskey? Or did I make a mistake by buying my painting supplies at Wizard Will’s Magic Paint Store? It didn’t matter. I needed to find a way back to the other side of the canvas.
Logic [I know, I know] dictated that since I painted my way into this mess, I could paint my way out. But I didn’t have any painting supplies, other than the paintbrush I was still holding in my hand.
Fortunately, a purple deer was walking by [I ran out of brown paint. Forest. Trees. Duh.] I told the deer about my dilemma and asked if it could direct me to the nearest magic paint store.
“Sorry, Daddy-O. [Painting a goatee on myself was probably a mistake.] There aren’t any magic paint stores in this painting. But I know of a campsite where humans grill food. You can probably get some charcoal there and draw a picture,” the purple deer said.
“Great. I’m an excellent drawer,” I replied.
“Is that why all five of my legs are different lengths?”
“I am branching out into impressionism. You’re my impression of a deer. Never mind that, lead the way.”
The purple deer lurched and jerked its way through the woods as I followed. Eventually, we arrived at a campsite. Which oddly, I didn’t remember painting. I guess that’s the magic of art. Anyway, there was a pic-a-nic basket on a picnic table and a bag of charcoal next to a grill.
Fortunately, I can’t paint hands well, so there were no other humans to deal with. I grabbed a few sandwiches out of the pic-a-nic basket [getting trapped in a painting always makes me peckish] and then some briquettes.
As I began to draw my latest masterpiece on the campground basketball court, I realized that I could barely remember what my art studio looked like. I cursed myself for my lack of comprehension while reading that show, don’t tell article. I would just have to go for it and hope for the best. I began drawing.
I ended up in Grand Central Station in New York City. Close enough.
The success of my journey gave me an idea for a new career — art thief. I returned to my art studio and practiced drawing casino and bank vaults. And I came up with a criminal mastermind name: The Artist Formerly Known as CEO of A Fortune 500 Company.
My career change proved successful. And I learned an important life lesson. Artists do make the big bucks!
Happy Monday. Thanks for reading and responding. You make it fun.
Mark
Haha, loved the final story! 🤣 And in regards to “Obsolete”...last year I learned that I’ve become...old. While talking with some students, I taught them about CDs and cassettes (the trio I was chatting with didn’t have a clue)! Oh well. 😄
Give me your Pac-Man pattern if you ain’t using it.