I haven’t been to an AGM or a committee
meeting for a long time. Yesterday I attended an AGM. I realise now why it has
been so many years.
No, I shouldn’t and won’t be cruel. It’s just that people can’t help
being people. And AGMs probably bring out the worst in all of us. We turn into
automata, co-opted for the day to carry around an ego. I sit there, and
something is being discussed. I don’t know… Let’s say that the big issue this
time is whether or not dogs should be allowed to become associate members of
this particular organization. I have no objection, as long as they pay their
membership dues. But then someone objects: If dogs can be members, what about
my little kitty? And my goldfish, says another. I don’t have one, says someone
else, but if I did, I would expect my unicorn to be eligible for membership.
Or perhaps the discussion revolves around whether or not the plates used
at the upcoming fete should be white or cream-coloured. Now, frankly, I
couldn’t give a rat’s arse what colour the plates are, but I suddenly feel
obliged to have an opinion on the matter. And to voice it. What’s more, I am suddenly
an expert on what colour plates are appropriate for every occasion. My grandmother’s best friend, after all, was once
the… I forget now what she was, but it seemed to carry a great deal of weight
at the time.
Voices are raised, and temperatures rise; and before long, a splinter
group forms. The Reformed Society for
Victims of Sexual Abuse by Elves is born.
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