A coworker once told me what she learned in her presentations class: public speaking is people's #1 fear. Death is #3.
If you are dead, do you need fear public speaking? Do the angels require you to give a weekly update of your activities in heaven to justify your presence there? Does the devil torture you by making you regurgitate in a position other than one of the four home base positions? It must be he didn't like the holy implications of the steeple posititon (fingertips touching, hands at waist level).
When I'm dead, I hope people remember that my shoe color was two shades darker than my hem and that I never showed an insubordinate kneecap in the office.
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This is one of the few advantages of being an invisible science underling and earning less than half your salary. I regurgitate behind closed doors, with hair-flipping and sighing allowed. Nobody notices my holey pants with scissored-off hems, or sniggers at my co-worker's Pabst Blue Ribbon t-shirt.
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