Primanti Brothers/Leadership Conferences

I LIKE: PRIMANTI BROTHERS


Pittsburgh was once the steel capital of the world, until the mills closed in the 1980s. In the 20-odd years since, the city has experienced an exciting rebirth by transforming the sites of the closed mills into strip malls, Stein Marts, and world-class dining spots such as P.F. Chang's and Fuddruckers.
Okay, I have never had much leftover praise for the city of Pittsburgh. In fact, I never had *any* praise for the city until a specialty cupcake store opened a few blocks away during my senior year.
Nonetheless, as much as I rib and jibe Pittsburgh, I will humbly admit that Primanti Brothers, the shining star of the city, turns out a damn good sandwich.
I guess Pittsburgh wanted to be important enough to have a "cuisine" specific to the city. They hastily accomplished this by putting coleslaw and fries on their turkey sandwiches. Bam! Ethnic cuisine! A cultural experience! Pittsburgh on the world scene! The quintessential Pennsylvania experience!
No, not really. But coleslaw on sandwiches tastes better than you probably think it does. Also, you get a ticket for a free cookie with every sandwich.
Oh wait, that's Fuddruckers. Well, I guess that place is pretty good too.



I HATE: LEADERSHIP CONFERENCES, HONOR SOCIETIES, YADDA, YADDA, YADDA


In high school, my friends always got invitations to those elusive "leadership conferences," which I assumed would turn an average kid like me into a kid who could get laid. The invitations never seemed to make it to my mailbox.
By the age of 17, however, I had matured enough to approach the school guidance counselor and bug into her sending me one. It finally arrived.
At that point, however, I began asking myself a question that has not changed to this day:
What exactly are these things for?
What the hell are these cheery guys in ties talking about when they promote "leadership" and "initiative?"
The kids who attend these conferences are people that I would only allow to "lead" my frozen, wolf-eaten body. They are invariably the same kids who joined those honor societies in college--societies that allow you to gas on about the same vague topics of "leadership," "ideas," and "good attitudes" every week for a $60 fee.
Sure, it looks good on resumes, but so does being president of the Trick-or-Treat club (a short-lived, but immortal club).
To be fair, I never attended a single one of these conferences, so this is all speculation.
I imagine, however, that they would probably start with that same cheery guy in a tie leading a human knot exercise.
God, I loathe the human knot. I don't want to work constructively to untie ourselves. I want the person next to me to dry their clammy hand, release it from mine, and make everyone else on the team line up and apologize to me individually.
Take off your tie, buddy, because the only person I'm following is that 45-year old woman I trail home every day before speeding off.