Having one of those days where I’m thinking somewhere along the road of life, I took a wrong turn when it came to “career selection”. Not on purpose, mind you, but this is what happens when you’re tasked at 22 to figure out what you want to do when you grow up. A friend of mine recently told me after taking her daughter on a few college visits she thought you shouldn’t go to college until you’re in your late 30’s/early 40’s because THAT’S when you actually know what you want to do. For the record, said friend is a fucking genius.

So as I sit here trying to strategically strategize some sort of marketing nonsense on a random Wednesday – which I’m totally not feeling at the moment – I realized that yeah, OK…marketing is fun and cool at times, but lately not so much.  Perhaps I’ve been in the same dark ugly niche corner of marketing for too long or got too comfortable or I’m getting to old to do what I do (or enjoy doing what I do), but the past few weeks have been a tad on the “suck fest” side of things and it got me thinking, “I should’ve been a beer truck driver.”

Seriously. Think about it.

Who’s ever unhappy when the beer truck shows up?

Nobody, that’s who.

I mean, the driver shows up with a truck…full…of…beer. What’s not to love?

I could be the ugliest, slowest, dumbest person walking the Earth but if I pull my truck full o’ beer into a restaurant or a gas station or a supermarket, someone’s always gonna be happy to see me, right?

And although there’s possibly a scenario where I’m running late because of traffic or a flat tire or God knows what and, perhaps, the manager of the aforementioned restaurant or gas station or supermarket isn’t going to be so pleased with me.

Understandable, but guess what?

I’m still showing up with a truck…full…of…BEER.

Game. Set. Match. Beer truck driver for the win.

Plus, I get to wear a shirt with my name on it. So there’s that.