A long, long, long time ago, fate intervened in my life while I was standing in line to register for my freshmen classes at Syracuse University.
How? You may ask.
Well, following the not-so-wise advice of my father, a CPA, I enrolled in some introductory Accounting classes.
I had taken some Accounting in high school. And my father wanted me to pursue more of them while at Syracuse. He argued, quite forcefully, that Accounting was a solid career choice. Or, at the very least, a dependable back up plan should my aspirations in writing not pan out.
He was convinced they would not.
And considering my lowly status in the advertising world, perhaps he was right.
Anyway, back at the registrar's office, I stood in the line for Accounting 101 (a torrid exploration of debits, credits and capital expenditures). When I finally reached the front of the line, I was told there were only openings in one session.
"I'll take it," I said, naively unaware of the failure rate for students who sign up for 8:00 AM class. Any 8:00 AM class.
This freshmen axiom is particularly true in upstate New York. In the winter months. When the thermometer doesn't get into double digits until June.
And so it was that I failed Accounting 101.
And never made it to the infinitely-more exciting world of Accounting 102.
Which is probably a good thing. As it would have changed my life. And altered the very nature of this blog, which would probably consist of entries that looked like this:
I can't believe I missed the deduction for the regional sales meeting in Nashville.
I'm not sure the current iteration is much better, but I am much comfortable at a keyboard than I ever was at an adding machine.