If you missed previous segments of the CMEslinger saga, you can read them here:
And now, our latest segment:
Part 3 (Derek)
As time continued its relentless march forward, the CMEslinger was forced to face the harsh reality that he was never going to catch the man in black at his current pace. He needed to take action, and he needed to do it now.
Reining the pony to a halt, he shielded his flinty grey eyes with the gnarled right hand whose pinkie finger was starting to have trouble reaching the shift button on his keyboard. Scanning the horizon, he caught a glint of sunlight bouncing off the tin roof of a farmhouse a quarter mile to the west. He gave the pony a gentle nudge with his heels and headed in the direction of the farmhouse at a trot.
As he neared the house, he noticed two things immediately. One was the mud spattered Jeep Wrangler in the dirt driveway that was so filthy it was impossible to determine the color of the paint job. The second was the silver haired woman clad in faded jeans and a chambray shirt, seated at what looked like an old school desk that someone had dragged onto the front porch of the farmhouse. She had a beat-up old Lenovo Thinkpad in front of her and was typing on it with such force that the clacking of the keys drowned out the angry curses emanating from her mouth.
The sound of hoofbeats eventually reached the ears of the furious typist, and she glanced up from the laptop with the surly look of a trapped wolverine. Her expression softened when she noticed the CMEslinger approaching, and she rose to greet him.
“Well, howdy there stranger. I apologize for the unkind words you might have heard just now. I don’t get too many visitors in this here neck of the woods.”
The CMEslinger nodded with a slight grin. “No apologies needed, ma’am. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s got you typing madder than a bear with her paw stuck in a hornet’s nest?”
The woman gave a short laugh and a helpless shrug. “I appreciate your concern, mister, but it’s nothing you can help with. I work for the local health center, and I keep getting my dang CME grant proposals rejected. To make matters worse, won’t nobody give me a good reason why. It’s incredibly frustratin’!”
His grin growing even broader, the CMEslinger slid off his horse and gave the woman a brief nod of his head. “Ma’am, today just might be your lucky day. Let me take a look at one of those proposals. Perhaps we can work out some kind of a deal…”
(Three hours later)
“Las Vegas 300 miles,” read the road sign now rapidly shrinking in the Wrangler’s rearview mirror. The CMEslinger was making excellent time now that he was able to trade the pony and a few hours consulting for a temporary lease of the silver-haired woman’s muddy Jeep. It only took the CMEslinger a few minutes to scan one of her grant proposals to realize she was stuck in a CME time warp where non-referenced needs assessments and standalone live conferences without a tandem enduring program were the norm. It took him a bit longer to explain how she should update her approach to program planning and instructional design, but once he reviewed and gave a thumbs up to her freshly written executive summary, their deal was set.
The CMEslinger looked at the dashboard clock, grimaced, and gave the Wrangler more gas. He had to get moving.
CMEPALOOZA 
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