Time to Quit

The meeting started as usual. The ladies, all over 55, talked to each other at the round table up front. All the rest of us sat at round tables on the sides and in the back. Our opinions didn’t matter as much as theirs, or so they thought.

I sat at the farthest table in the back, as usual. My position in the club was Parliamentarian … you know, the one who is supposed to know all the rules and maintain order in the meeting with regard to procedures.

The older women were, of course, in charge. Two of them swapped the office of President and Vice President every other year. A third woman was in and out of the Treasurer position depending on how her husband, who had dementia, was doing. When he was calm, she worked on the club books and when he was anxious and needed more care, she couldn’t concentrate on numbers, bank accounts, or the extra paperwork of club activities.

The fourth senior woman had never held a job but was sure she knew how meetings should be run because she watched a lot of shows on Hallmark featuring realtors and librarians and the meetings they held. She thought Roberts Rules of Oder were made up by TV writers and actually asked me who Robert was.

She was accepted as one of the Directors of the club because she was willing to do all the annoying jobs the President (either one of them) didn’t want to do, like carrying around the keys to the rented storage shed and showing up to unlock it for whoever claimed they needed something.

The club also had an elected Secretary who was supposed to take and distribute the meeting minutes and advise the President when someone was in arrears with their dues, needed attention for a personal problem, or was upset about another member’s behavior. The Secretary was supposed to read and inform members about mail addressed to the club, including requests for participation in other clubs’ fundraisers. They also reported when a member was ill or in the hospital.

The Secretary position usually went to a fairly new member who had no clue what they were getting into. One of the senior members asked, at election time, if anyone knew of a new member they would like to punish and nominate them to be Secretary. The ladies laughed.

After minimal training, new secretaries rarely distributed minutes in time for the next meeting but were quick to send text messages or email the members about upcoming social functions.

At today’s meeting I sat at the back watching the proceedings of the first meeting of the new fiscal year. The elders were sitting at the front table discussing Evelyn’s husband and, at the same time, who was going to buy the plastic eggs for the annual Easter Egg Hunt.

Nobody mentioned the request for eye exams at the elementary schools in town. The primary women were focused on buying or requesting donations from local businesses for easter egg candy to stuff into the plastic eggs.

My husband, Jerry, asked about a schedule for the eye exams, which were part of the requirement of the district organization, and for which we were held accountable, and was immediately told that everyone was expected to be at the Easter Egg Hunt and it took priority. If he didn’t want to participate, he didn’t have to. He didn’t respond.

I stood up and mentioned that the Easter Egg Hunt was going to be held at the Dog Park in town where many people took their dogs. They said the dogs wouldn’t be there at that time … they were sure of it. I said the eggs would be filled with chocolate candy and this would be bad for any dogs if they found the candy in the grass and ate it. They told me that all dogs that showed up after the hunt was over should be on leashes, so there’s no problem. Right, and there are no stray dogs around scavenging for food at their own designated park.

Then the VP said, “This Easter Egg Hunt has been done this way for forty years and has to happen as usual. Sit down.”

I remained standing and said, “With 6,000 plastic eggs placed on the ground, some of the chocolate is bound to be dropped on the grass by parents or kids. Is no one concerned about the dogs finding and eating the chocolate? Wouldn’t it be better to put non-chocolate candy in the thousands of eggs?”

A young man who was not a member of the club looked up at me and said, “We already have a vendor for the chocolate candy. Sit down.”

I replied, “And you are?”

“Invited,” he said, looking at the Vice President, whose brother ran the Chocolate Factory candy shop downtown.

Jerry pulled on my shirt and motioned for me to sit down, which I did even though I was seething. He leaned over and said, “It’s not worth it. Let it go. We don’t have to go to the park.”

The ladies, and the VP’s son, showed up at the Dog Park and set up a small table near the parking lot. Not in the park exactly but on the border of the parking lot. This activity was advertised in town as a fundraiser but there were no jars for donations set up anywhere. The women sat at the table talking with each other and their neighbors who showed up with grandchildren in tow. It was a hot day but that didn’t matter because it only took fifteen minutes for all 6,000 eggs to disappear. The parents and grandparents gathered up the children and their booty and immediately climbed in their cars to rush to the next easter egg hunt across town.

A week later at the next club meeting, the off-and-on treasurer reported a $40.00 donation from someone walking his dog nearby the park while the Easter Egg Hunt was in full swing. His dog apparently alerted him by whining loudly and looking at the scurrying little children. He handed two twenty-dollar bills to a parent who was standing in the parking lot who gave it to one of the ladies perched at the table.

At the meeting, Jerry again asked about the eye exams and was told that no one had contacted the school yet, but the secretary had set up a performance by the Color Guard, which her daughter was a member of, to perform at the upcoming Bingo event at the Senior Center.

My husband looked at me and said, “Eye exams help children more than Bingo or the Color Guard. I’ll see you at home,” and stood up and left. The President saw him go and asked me, “So, are you going to help with Bingo next Saturday morning?”

I hesitated for one second and said, “You know what? I quit.”

I gathered my papers, including my copy of Robert’s Rules of Order, and ran out of the room. I jumped into the car Jerry had waiting for me at the door. He knew me well.