Story 31: Meeting of the Minds

(Scene: A meeting room with one long table.  Ten suits and one secretary enter and sit.)

Head Suit: The meeting of the Group Committee will come to order – please review last meeting’s minutes.

Suit 2: (Mutters) More like hours.  (Head Suit narrows his eyes at him)

Head Suit: Is there a motion to approve?

Suit 3: I would like to make a motion to approve, if that’s all right.

Head Suit: (Discreetly rolls his eyes) Second?

Suit 4 and Suit 5: Second.

Suit 4: Who gets credit for that?

Head Suit: It doesn’t matter – all in favor?

Suits 2 to 9: Aye.

Suit 10: Ayuh.

Head Suit: Minutes approved.  For the –

Suit 7: Hold it – I have a revision to the minutes where it says –

Head Suit: It’s too late!  They’ve already been approved!  Actually read them before the meeting next time if you want to make revisions!  Clarice here (He gestures at the secretary) spends hours distilling what is said at these meetings into our permanent record; the least you could do is read her fine work!  You people make me sick!

Clarice: It’s OK, I –

Head Suit: No, it is not OK, Clarice – no one will be denigrated in this company on my watch, do you hear me?  So Tony, shut your fat mouth!  (Suit 7 hangs his head in shame) Clarice, I retroactively make those previous comments off the record.  (Clarice crosses out five lines in her notebook) Now, on to Item 1 on the agenda: this year’s budget.  Angela?

Suit 5: (Looks at her report) We have no money to order anything.

Head Suit: So, same old?

Suit 5: We did receive a grant to order T-shirts for the annual walk, but they have to be ordered by tomorrow or we lose it.

Head Suit: Order away, then.

Suit 8: That has to be by Committee consensus, sir.

Head Suit: Oh yes – I make a motion to use the grant money to order T-shirts for the walk.  Second?

Suit 2: Can we just raise our hands?

Head Suit: Fine.  (A few hands go up) All in favor?

Suits 2 to 7 and 9: Aye.

Suit 8: Nay!

Head Suit: One dissension – the motion carries.

Suit 8: I raise an objection on the grounds that we don’t have a quorum!  In case no one’s noticed, we’re missing 15 members!

Head Suit: You’re not even on this Committee anymore, Roger; I took you off in January, so get outta here!

Suit 8: Oh.  (Mumbles and gathers papers) Would have been nice if someone’d sent me a memo….

Head Suit: And you’d better not take those minutes out of this room!  (Suit 8 drops them on the floor and skulks out) Please note that Roger has now officially been notified that he is no longer a Committee member.

Suit 4: (Whispering to Suit 5) Thank goodness – I didn’t want to be the one to tell him.

Head Suit: Moving on to Item 2: the presentation on company numbers.  Clarice?

(Clarice turns on a projector and shuts off the lights.  The screen turns blue, then an error message appears)

Suit 3: Should we call I.T.?

Head Suit: That’ll take hours.  Clarice, I thought you tested this beforehand?

Clarice: I forgot!  (She buries her head in her arms and cries)

Head Suit: There, there, we all make mistakes.  Just e-mail it to us later and don’t ever let it happen again.  (Clarice nods, turns off the projector, and turns the lights back on) Item 2 is tabled due to technical difficulties, which I think is a nice and diplomatic way of putting it.  Item 3: layoffs.  This is not an item for approval; it is only informational.  Susan, Larry, Jill, and Tom – this is your formal notice.  Thank you for all your years with the company (He waves over someone outside the room); Security is here to escort you out.

(Three Security personnel enter and escort out Suits 3, 4, 6, and 9)

Head Suit: Now, Item 4: meeting planning.  What do you want to put on the next meeting’s agenda?

Suit 2: I would like to make a motion to dissolve this Committee instead, now that we have less than half the required number of members here.

Head Suit: That can be discussed under the “Open Discussion” section – right now, we are on Item 4.

Suit 2: It’s a counter-proposal to the discussion at hand.

            Head Suit: It is not – it is a different topic and must wait until we reach “Open Discussion”.

            Suit 2: If my motion passes, the Committee no longer exists and the topic of planning future meetings will be moot!

            Head Suit: Again, it is off-topic and must wait until “Open Discussion”!

            Suit 2: Well, what do The Rules say?

            Clarice: (Reading from The Rules) “All items on the agenda must be discussed or tabled.”

            Suit 2: I move to table!

            Head Suit: Anyone second?  (The other suits raise their hands) All in favor? (The other suits say “Aye”) Motion carried – Item 4 is tabled at this time.  Item 5 –

            Suit 2: We just tabled Item 4 so we could dissolve the Committee and end the meeting!

            Head Suit: You know that’s not how it works, and now you’re just making everyone uncomfortable.  Item 5 – the rat infestation issue.

            Suit 2: I move to table!

            Head Suit: We have 20 more items on the agenda – will you be moving to table all of them until we reach “Open Discussion”?

            Suit 2: Yes!  With all of my heart, yes!

Head Suit: Very well, I will go against my principles and put it to a vote.  Who is in favor of dissolving the Committee?  (Everyone except Head Suit raises their hand) Who is against?  (Head Suit raises his hand) So moved – the Committee remains intact.  As Chair, my vote overrides everyone else’s.

Suit 7: (Stands) That’s not in The Rules!  Clarice!

Head Suit: Only I can order Clarice around, now back to your station!

Suit 10: (Stands) I declare a vote of no confidence in you as Chair!  Sir!

Head Suit: (His mouth drops open and he stands slowly) You dare to declare a vote of no confidence in me?!  This is mutiny!

Suit 2: (Stands with Suit 5) As Vice Chair, I call a vote to have you removed as Chair and me installed in your place.  All in favor?

Suits 5, 7, and 10: Aye!

Suit 2: So moved!

Head Suit: Strike that from the minutes!  This is highly irregular!

Suit 2: Motion to dissolve this Committee; second; all in favor?

Suits 5, 7, and 10: Aye!  Aye!  Aye!

Suit 2: Committee dissolved!  We’re free!

(Suits 2, 5, 7, and 10 grab their papers, throw them into the air, and run from the conference room in glee.  Head Suit sits down wearily in his chair and looks at Clarice)

Clarice: Should I enter that the meeting’s adjourned?

Head Suit: No.  It will continue – forever.  That’ll show them for not following proper parliamentary procedure.

(The company went out of business the following day)

Story 30: The Anti-Litterbug

            All you garbage-tossers, cigarette-butt-flickers, and other assorted litterers, beware: your comeuppance is at hand.

            No, not in the guise of some measly, $1,000 ticket that is rarely bestowed.  This, instead, is justice.

            Justice for the Earth.  Justice for the flora and the fauna.  Justice for everyone who has had to clean up your mess.  At last, their advocate has arrived.

            You do not know my name or my face, and you do not see me until it is too late.  I come upon you when you least expect it and I dash away into the night – or day, depending on what time it is.

            My methods are simple: anything you throw that lands far outside of what would be considered a proper receptacle will be thrown back at you.

            If you toss a finished cigarette out the window of your moving car, I will stop wherever I am, pick up that butt in the middle of traffic at great risk to my own life and limb, and follow you until I am able to throw that butt right back at you.  I do avoid your face, but a little ding on the arm never hurt anybody.  You can rest assured that it is your own cigarette, with the addition of the pebbles or grass where it had landed when you cast it away to what you thought was the void.

            Do not rail at me with faux righteous anger.  You are the one who treats the world as your garbage can – you are the agent of your own destruction.  Next time, get an ashtray.

            For those who toss fast food remains out of moving vehicles at midnight, be on guard: those same greasy trays and acidic soda cups will reappear in the very same setting from which they were ejected.  Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but sometime within the month you sons-of-loose-women will be tracked down and your leavings returned in your cars’ passenger seats.

            For the rest of you illegitimate offspring and female dogs who walk along sidewalks and throw things into bushes; who drive to the lake and dump sordid items; and yes, even those who see the world as their urinal, know that everything you discard will be returned to you.  Yes, I said everything, even if that requires me learning how to scuba dive or take a class on forensic techniques in gathering bodily fluids.  The number of hypodermic needles I have come across would make any phlebotomist weep with fear.  Know that even your homes and front yards are not safe from my “Return to Sender” deliveries.  Know that I have had a 100% success rate in locating my targets.

            Know, again, that you are the instrument of your own undoing.  Here are a garbage can and a recycling bin – make them your friends.

            The World will thank you, and my work will be done.

Story 29: Loser Takes None

            I can’t believe my loved ones staged an intervention for my gambling addiction.  Who do they think they are, anyway?

            I’ll prove it to those judgmental relatives: they’ll show concern out of the other side of their faces after I’ve won a BILLION DOLLARS in A.C., woo-hoo!

            I leave a considerate away message on my e-mail for them, and at 5:00 a.m. commence the ole pilgrimage down the GSP running through the state of N.J.  I then head over to the ACE going into A.C. proper (those from Jersey know what all these initials mean; those who aren’t, wish they could be this cool and in).  I had calculated that the tolls would be $20 round trip – the NJTA should all be arrested for the highwaymen they really are; however, they’re also The Man, and you can’t fight The Man.  I’ve been told you can’t fight The House either, `cause The House Always Wins, but I’m about to prove them wrong in spades.  And in hearts, diamonds, and clubs.

            I cut across five lanes of traffic to make the turn onto the City’s main avenue in order to maximize my time actually on the casino floor, and I gracefully screech to a stop at the hotel, casino, and resort’s valet parking.  A helpful gentleman comes to assist me with my luggage, but as I refuse to feel the need to tip any more than I must, I throw my 10 suitcases and overnight bags onto the nearest trolley and gratefully toss him a dollar for his trouble in parking my car.  I’ll be buying a luxury vehicle soon, so I really don’t care if I never see my piece-of-junk again.

            I wheel my trolley to the nearest elevator and proceed to the check-in counter; noting that check-in time is 1:00 p.m. and it is only just now 7:00 a.m., I mentally slap myself in the face for always forgetting this crucial fact in hotel operations.  Undaunted, I wheel my trolley to the always-open casino floor, the safe haven for me and my kind.  Security tries to give me a hard time, so I let them take my trolley and wiggle out of having to tip the nice fellows in the luggage holding area (you always have to look for the right angle when wanting to conserve your cash).

            Twelve hours later, all of the slot machines, card tables, and roulette wheels  have been a bust and the free drinks aren’t making me feel any better, so I check in at last, break my luggage out of Security – no bell hop, please, I am a grown woman – and I head up to my room on the 50^th floor to collapse from the effort of all that losing I just did throughout the day.  The door is inconveniently situated in a corner, so I have to thrown my luggage in piece by piece before scooting the trolley down the hall and letting it glide to a stop – some random child or alcoholic can now have fun with it.

            Once inside, I realize something is amiss as I fall all over my stuff.  It takes a few moments to register the fact that I cannot see a thing: the curtains blocking the beautiful view of the other casinos have been closed tight.  I stumble over to the window and let in the natural light radiating from the boardwalk mall – ah, how peaceful the shore is.

            My toiletries are kept in four bags, so best to open them all now.  The bathroom has nice lighting and subliminal numbers on the wallpaper to keep us professional gamblers focused on our goal, which is very thoughtful.  I spread out les articles de toilette and notice that soap and shampoo have been provided, but tsk, no lotion – and what?  The towels are crooked?!!

            I go back to the main room to steady my nerves and try to find comfort in the other included amenities.

            They charge for movies?

            They charge for food?!

            They charge for phone calls??!!

            I collapse on the bed in despair; when I turn my head, I see it: some of the thread on the quilt is frayed.

            I can longer contain my anguish and let out a blood-curdling scream.  I then hear banging on my wall and my so-called “neighbor” telling me to shut the expletive up, for expletive’s sake.  Apparently, my monologue has not been entirely internal, but he needn’t be so rude about it, either.

            I find solace in one of the many hotel bars where the drinks are most decidedly not free, but I need to prepare myself for that evening’s high-stakes poker championship.  My nerves are steel, and my mind is as sharp as the razor that I carry with me always.  I also look forward to the preamble to the game, since I am always fascinated by the dealer’s opening patter and explanation of the tournament rules.  Watching them manipulate the cards in demonstration, I am convinced that casino card dealers are, in fact, frustrated magicians.

            I return to my room at 2:00 a.m., not the billionaire I had planned to be by that hour but still ahead thanks to the pockets I was able to pick on the boardwalk after the game.  Those people can afford to cancel their credit cards anyway – I just want the cash and the cute grandbaby photos.

            I can’t sleep with all this racket, but good luck turning off the Atlantic Ocean, `cause I’ve tried.  I turn on the television to drown out (pun intended) the noise, but only get partway through an excellent sales pitch on diamond vacuum cleaners when the wall-banger starts in again, this time with even more off-color language and topped off with vague threats to my person.  I choose to ignore them, until a door-banger turns out to be Security yet again, promising me eviction lest I turn off the television during non-prime-time hours.  I ask that he instead move my neighbor to a new room, but my reasonable request is denied.  It isn’t as if the hotel’s booked to capacity – oh, snap!  So, I turn off my white noise and suffer the grating sound of waves gently crashing onto the shore for the rest of the night.

            By the time the sun rises and is shining in my eyes, I decide that I have had enough thrill and magic of the casino to last me for another week, so I go downstairs to check out.  At the counter, I express my displeasure with my room’s temperature, in that I would have had to adjust the thermostat when it should have been at a proper level all along; that meals were not complimentary to reward me for my presence; and that I was not guaranteed to win anything in the casino when the establishment’s slogan clearly states that guests will “have a winning time”.  Along with the aforementioned complaints, I also challenged the “Room Assessment Fee” listed, since the room should have been assessed after it was first constructed and I should not be forced to contribute to the consequences of any poor decision-making on the hotel’s part.  The concierge then comes over to me with Security – oh, that bothersome Security – and reads off a list of my supposed offenses during my stay there, banning me for life before turning me over to the City police for my “shopping spree” on the boardwalk the night before.

            As I am led away in handcuffs, I find some comfort in knowing the joke’s on them – in my discombobulation this morning, I forgot to leave a tip for housekeeping.  Maybe my jailer will let me mail it to them with a note.

Story 28: Life in the Slow Lane

            Traffic, that cursèd organism with a mind of its own, literally inches forward in the daily parkway ritual of lane closures, accidents with their inevitable offspring of rubbernecking, backed-up exits, backed-up entrances, and nowhere else for the imprisoned participants to turn.  In short: Hell on Earth.

            The regulars know their parts and resignedly play them.  The most intricate of the routine is the maneuver dubbed “The Waltz of the Sedans” which, when properly executed, is a thing of beauty.  It involves two or more vehicles simultaneously swapping lanes, akin to synchronized swimming and producing much the same awe to any observer who can steal a glance.  Those who stumble in this pas de automobile wipe out spectacularly and earn the sudden horror and subsequent wrath of their fellow travelers, followed by pity when the tragic results are seen.  The ones caught in the wake hours later settle for wrath because it’s easier.

            The amateurs – the out-of-staters, the vacationers, the student drivers, and the fools who just do not know any better – invariably either drive at the speed limit (aka the suggested starting speed) in the far left lane, or never know when or where their exit will show up.  The regulars do their best to go around and beyond them, but one sap always will be trapped behind an amateur trundling along with its right blinker on for the past five exits, hoping the next will be “the one”.

            Rush hour usually is rush day, except between the hours of 3:00 and 4:00 a.m. every other Sunday.  If you are lucky, the DUIs race past you with only your car rocking in the slipstream as evidence of your narrow escape.  The state trooper not far behind is planning the next phase of his career: race car driving, with its dangers of crashing and burning making it the infinitely safer life option.

            To avoid this horrible, convenient roadway, it is best to memorize the myriad backroads to your destination.  The journey will be just as long if not longer, but the advantages are that you will be in motion the entire time rather than idling; you pay for just gas rather than gas and tolls; and the scenery is better.  A few of the downsides include traffic lights and the pedestrians who step into the road just as you approach because they want you to hit them.  They are a wily bunch, tripping you up by crossing against lights, walking in non-people-designated areas, and appearing out of thin air as your car is in mid-turn.  Don’t let them succeed in their suicidal goal: stop short, blast your weak horn, shake your fist mightily, and shout a blessing that they have long lives in spite of their self-destructive tendencies.

            To avoid this nice, inconvenient roadway, take the parkway.  Yes, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is the definition of insanity, but sometimes one must just endure it.