It’s Friday morning and I’m on the 7:07 train.
I’ll be a little late for the bi-weekly sales meeting at eight but when I explain it was due to an Emergency Cookie Stop on the way to the station all will be forgiven. It is Cookie Friday after all.
Meetings. They’re the bane of my work life.
Take a peek at my Outlook calendar and you’ll see No Meeting Wednesdays. Wednesdays are blocked off as a lovely little meeting-free oasis for accomplishing a few of the things I only get to talk about doing all the other days of the week.
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Speaking of meetings, I am attending the inaugural gathering of the local Obama for President group on Saturday.
Yep. I’m doing it.
Good For You, Hedy. Way to Support Your Cause.
Eh. Not so much.
I am more cynical than excited. I am more anxious than eager.
Why?
Because I’m not a joiner. Never have been. Never will be.
But I believe in Barack Obama. He’s the only reason I’m doing this.
And it feels like a damn good reason. For now.
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“I’m going to this
Main Street meeting Tuesday night,” I told Jim shortly after we moved to the next town over nearly four years ago.
I had good intentions. I wanted to be involved in the community where we plan on spending (almost) the rest of our lives. I wanted to make a difference.
I’d seen what Main Street initiatives could do for blighted downtown areas in Michigan and Illinois – I’d even written a couple stories about it for the local paper – so the thought of participating in that group was very appealing to me.
Arriving at the new library, I found the meeting room crammed with more than 50 people. The current board members stood up front to explain the goals and initiatives for the year.
It is still a mystery how I was singled out in that room chock-a-block with volunteers, but immediately following the meeting two of the four board members cornered me.
“HI! HOW are YOU? It’s so GREAT having you HERE! WHAT do you DO?”
Desperation is never attractive. I could smell it on them. Instinct told me to run and hide.
By the end of a 15-minute conversation I was told a) They had an unexpected vacancy on the board, b) I would be elected as a board member at the very next meeting, and c) “HERE’S WHAT WE’D LIKE YOU TO DO.”
I felt like Jesus at a tent revival meeting.
Of course I did exactly what he
wouldn’t do: I got the hell outta there and never went back.
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The same thing always happened in college, too.
I’d dread group projects knowing that I’d be the one not only leading the charge but staying up ‘til 3 a.m. to do most of the work, too.
(Lisa: I know what you’re thinking. Very funny. Not THAT kind of group project.)
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I know. I’m a coward. I should’ve stayed and helped out that Main Street group.
But I was extremely uncomfortable taking on a leadership role when I hadn’t put in my time.
I told them that the people who’ve been on the committee – I don’t know,
longer than an hour – might be a little miffed at a rookie like me walking into a board position.
They were insistent. I stopped returning their phone calls. They gave up after a month.
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It comes down to this: There are leaders, doers, and yappers.
I am a leader/doer. I have the unfortunate ability to see what needs to be done in a given situation and then I do it, or, in the best case scenario I work alongside other capable, enthusiastic doers to do it.
The doers are my favorites. They show up on time. They do what needs to be done. And they’re quiet.
From my very limited experience, volunteer groups tend to attract a lotta yappers. People who like saying, “I’m a Community Activist on the Committee to Eradicate Poop Stains.”
They put it on their resume. They’ll even have business cards made. They’re the first to arrive at a meeting and the last to leave. They bring donuts. They talk a lot because they think that’s what you’re supposed to do at meetings.
But when it comes down to actually eradicating poop stains, they don’t do shit.
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Jeez, Hedy. If that’s how you feel, why bother with the Obama thing?
Because I like him. A lot. And I like this strange new feeling of wanting to help a candidate get elected.
So I’ll be there for sure. Hell, I might even do something. We’ll see.
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*SIGH*
Twelve of us showed up for the Obama meeting. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
Ten women. Two men. All of us, overwhelmingly white with the only obvious minorities being an African American woman and an Hispanic woman. I’m not sure what that means and it’s too soon to speculate.
I’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes trying to figure out how to put this delicately.
FUCK. The group leader is a YAPPER.
“Politics of inclusion rather than exclusion…don’t want my views to dictate the direction of the group…I’m open to suggestions…whatever the group wants to do…”
Not a leader. A yapper.
And so painfully egalitarian, so pitifully politically correct, he was the poster child for what’s wrong with the Democratic Party.
We listened. For 45 minutes. As this white dude rambled. On and on and on. With no apparent plan or agenda.
Can I say it again? Sorry, Mom. FUCK.
If I’m gonna listen to anyone speak without interruption for almost an hour, it’s gonna be Barack Obama.
But I won’t get the opportunity to listen to him much if he’s not elected.
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I am listening to: The Academy Award blah-blah
I am re-reading: The Stand - Stephen King
And I am: Busy
