By Tony Samson
THERE is a great imbalance between the available supply of celebrities and the high demand for their appearance (paid or unpaid). When the event for the star, rock or corporate, invited six months ago to be keynote speaker, ribbon cutter, master of ceremonies, or wedding sponsor finally comes around, he realizes it is too late to back out. He makes his excuse (I need to undergo minor surgery) and scrambles to offer a proxy as sacrificial lamb.
The designated substitute shows up on behalf of someone infinitely more stellar, maybe a boss he cannot turn down. Organizers of events cannot take offense at the absence of the invited guest (whose name is on the brochure) if he sent a representative in his stead. The welcome for the fake speaker is lukewarm — take any seat, Kuya.
The substitute is introduced as a “worthy representative.” (Is there ever an unworthy one?) When it’s time to deliver the speech, which he may actually have written, he prefaces it with an acceptable reason for the intended speaker’s absence. (He was struck down from his horse on his way to Damascus.) He assures the audience of the guest’s ardent desire to be here to deliver his speech in person. (He could not sleep all of last week looking forward to this event.) The substitute clears his throat and manfully accepts the lack of enthusiasm from the audience.
The proxy speaks confidently in the first person as the absent one. He skips the obligatory warm-up jokes at the start. (I see all of you expected to see someone important addressing you. I am less intimidating.) Those in the audience who feel duped are not in a forgiving mood. They all seem busy texting — I’m listening to a dope on the stage.
In ceremonial situations like standing as godparent at a wedding, the substitute approximates the donation expected of his principal when the plate is passed (He can reimburse later). He signs his own name “for” the one on the document, or if he dares, just signs over the name on the form.
The proxy feels uneasy with the switch. A big reception line expecting “the important one” to arrive is confronted with a grinning substitute. The disappointment is seldom masked. (Who are you?) As revenge, the organizers release a photo of the event to media, referring to the substitute anonymously as the representative of the big shot who was absent. (Don’t invite that welsher again.)
Is there an acceptable demeanor for the substitute?
Well, he needs to show up in the required attire, even if this is a pajama party. This allows him to blend in with the hosts and other guests, whom he may even know. In this situation, perfect strangers are preferred, especially those who do not realize how unimportant the substitute is. Still, the proxy must try to be unobtrusive and affect surprise at being served food. He must flee the scene as soon as his assigned task is done. No one will be asking after him.
A spokesman is another kind of proxy. The opinions he expresses are not his own. They reflect those of the chief he represents. It is possible that the views he publicly airs are at odds with the ones he privately holds. He may even be asked to comment on an issue he is not aware of and needs to check back on what company line has been adopted. (I don’t really know what that check-up was all about.) A wrong answer may replace the substitute with another one.
Why not simply skip an affair one cannot attend? Sending a proxy only seems to compound the offense. It is clear the event is not worth the invitee’s time. The substitute cannot be too thrilled anyway to end up as consolation prize, a gatecrasher who sits with somebody else’s name on his place card.
Sure, there are Hollywood stories of last-minute substitutes for movie roles who end up as bigger stars than the original choice. Then people forget who the original invitee was in the first place. But, that’s just in the movies.
In real life, the substitute is like generic medicine, cheaper and maybe equally effective. But who remembers the generic name?
A.R. Samson is chairman and CEO, TOUCH xda
ar.samson@yahoo.com
