Handshakes from Hell

I just got one of those soft & clammy half-hand shakes from one of the managers at this establishment.

I tried to give a nice firm confident grip, but that’s hard to do when all you’ve got are a few sweaty fingers to work with.

I feel like I need to go out and bring down a wildebeest with my bare hands now just to prove my manhood. That’s how bad it was.

Sadly, I am not in the African Safari — nor do I really know what a Wildebeest looks like. Maybe I should’ve said crocodile.

Anyway, really nice guy.

Just remember kids, it’s hard to, um, shake that first “handshake impression”.

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Duffy Gillman: What’s weird is when you receive a limp handshake it’s impossible to toughen the thing up. It’s like nailing Jello to the wall. It defies attempts to man it up. You can try to squeeze, but a wiggly half-hand is like firm handshake kryptonite: it wimpifies everything it touches.

Well — here’s the thing — I’ve been on the receiving end of those handshakes where the dudes are just super aggressive and their grip makes me want to curl up into a quivering mess on the floor — because it hurts. But instead, I just “man up” and grip back, ignoring my breaking bones…

And I didn’t want to be THAT GUY… like… you know, maybe that’s how it happens. You get a mediocre grip, so you try to make up for it by squeezing harder — not realizing you are suddenly reducing that person’s potential to have kids because you’re squeezing so hard…

So although I was tempted to “man it up”, I tried to squeeze with normal pressure… but as someone else pointed out, it made me want to go take a shower…

And this doesn’t give the guy much credit — he’s a nice guy.

It’s just THAT handshake man… BLERG.

Duffy Gillman: Zero, now now… I’m not saying I try to squeeze their living soul out of their fractured and bent hand. I’m just saying there is something about the dead fish handshake that makes it impossible to turn into a normal firm, two-pump, “I’m running for senate”, deft and confident greeting. It’s like the feeling when there is one less step than you remember and you gracelessly thud to the landing of the stairs. You’re an unwitting participant in some awkward exchange, and their hand is already withdrawn. Your mind grapples and pleads “now make it REAL”, and you’re feeling – not just unfulfilled mind you – like you have just consented to a sham of a greeting.

“We’ve wiggled wrists ineffectively… pack it! ship it! it’s a handshake!”

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