Whether we’re Northeastern Petrofiber Sales Managers or members of the Midwestern Tobacco Retailers Association, we’ve all been to that lame convention where they give out backpacks or nylon briefcases with the conference name embroidered on the front.
Usually these sad sacks are relegated to the B-team, stashed in closets and basements for the rare chance at glory should the lead bag tear or spring an ink leak.
But not the guy on the 5:27 to Southeast yesterday. This gent’s knapsack, slung over both shoulders, bore this doozy: Cutaneous Lymphoma Master Conference.
Sorry I missed that wingding.