the handshake
I came across a post about excessively firm handshakes, and it immediately brought to mind the climate of fear that has been instilled in my workplace by one of our executive handlers, who steely grip has become the punchline for a good many jokes—and the panicked moment of sudden terror in just as many nightmares.
Now, when I say ‘steely grip’, I am referring to a handshake that mercilessly grinds every knuckle of your hand together. Where the desire to deliver such a lethal greeting originated is beyond my comprehension. I can only guess that my boss was told at a very young age that the true measure of a man is by the firmness of his handshake and, believe me, he completely fucking ran with this idea. So menacing is his handshake that my hands instinctly find their way into my pockets whenever I get word that my boss will be in town.
I can fondly recall the time when my boss was to be introduced to a local consultant who was himself in possession of an equally imposing handshake. In the hours leading up to the meeting, the office was abuzz with predictions as to which of the two handshakes would reign victorious (because there must always be a winner). A few prop bets were proposed, covering everything from the duration of the handshake to the degree of eye-contact that would be made (in the rare event that both parties deliver an equal dose of bone-crushing pressure, eye-contact is traditionally used as the tiebreaker). If memory serves, I made somewhere in the neighborhood of $3 by boldly offering 50000/1 odds that a small-scale atomic reaction would occur.
As you can well imagine, the handshake dual was a sight to behold, and for one brief, delicious moment, a grimace appeared across both mens’ faces. With neither adversary willing to concede defeat, they were both forced to the sudden, painful conclusion that no matter how great their paycheck or how lowly their subordinants, they were human, all-too-human.
