Scourge of the “About Me” section, destroyer of LinkedIn summaries, and sworn enemy of anyone who begins a meeting with “Let’s go around the room and introduce ourselves” — was not born so much as he materialised, fully formed, in a cloud of bureaucratic smoke and mild irritation. Legend says he stepped out of a malfunctioning government printer, clutching a half‑completed form and muttering, “Why does anyone need to know my favourite hobbies to approve a procurement request?”
He has wandered many realms since: the fluorescent caverns of Public Sector Finance, the labyrinthine corridors of HR policy, the cursed plains of “team‑building exercises.” In each, he has battled his greatest nemesis — the mandatory personal bio — a creature that regenerates every time someone says, “Just a few sentences about yourself.”
To me, bios are the hydras of modern civilisation. Cut one down, and two more appear: one for the intranet, one for the conference program, one for the onboarding pack, one for the “fun facts” icebreaker. He has seen things. He has survived things. He has been asked to “add a quirky detail” more times than any mortal should endure.
And so he forged his creed:
“If you need a bio to understand me, you’re already in trouble.”
But fate, being a petty and theatrical creature, cursed him with a paradox: the more he hates bios, the more the universe demands them. Every project, every committee, every cross‑agency working group summons him with the same incantation: “Could you send through a short blurb about yourself?”
Short.
Blurb.
As if such words could contain the multitudes of a man who has fought the Minotaur of Mandatory Fun and lived to tell the tale.
Blurb.
As if such words could contain the multitudes of a man who has fought the Minotaur of Mandatory Fun and lived to tell the tale.
Thus Glenn roams the dungeon‑crawl of modern professional life, armed with nothing but a dry wit, a sharpened sense of irony, and a deep, abiding refusal to “share a little about himself.” When cornered, he will unleash his ultimate spell: the Vague Yet Respectable Summary, a shimmering illusion of competence that reveals absolutely nothing personal while sounding suspiciously like it was written by a committee of middle managers.
Some say he will one day write a proper bio.
Others say he will die before he lets that happen.
Both are probably correct.
Others say he will die before he lets that happen.
Both are probably correct.
Until then, he remains what he has always been:
A man.
A myth.
A walking HR compliance nightmare.
And the last surviving adventurer in a world determined to make him list his hobbies.
A man.
A myth.
A walking HR compliance nightmare.
And the last surviving adventurer in a world determined to make him list his hobbies.
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