The Guest Speaker

You check the time. Perfect. As intended, you've arrived fashionably late. It’s not like you wanted to come anyway. Underneath your very fashion – conscious blouse, you are secretly wearing your t-shirt that says “Sorry I’m late – I didn’t want to come”. You know that no one will see it, but you know it’s there.

As usual, no one is paying you any attention. Now, if you wouldn’t have shown up at all, there would be something said later. Since you did show up, regardless of how late you were, the usual behavior will occur. 

You walk across the room, passing by several people that you know and that know you. No one even acts like you are there. You look around at all the tables. The ones with people at them all appear to be full, except one. You stroll over to that table and stand for a moment. The people at the table are in the middle of a conversation, so you stay a polite distance away so as not to eavesdrop.

Finally, someone at the table acknowledges you, but only to tell you that the three available seats are being held, and that there are empty tables towards the back. You thank them, and with tears of embarrassment stinging your eyes, you head to an empty table. There are indeed a couple of them that are completely empty, and they are definitely in the back of the room. So far back that the staff door hits a chair on one of them. You choose the other one, and sit down.

After approximately fifteen minutes, you decide to try the buffet table. You quietly walk up to the table, and attempt to strike up a conversation with another woman there that you are somewhat familiar with. She gives you very clipped answers. You get your plate and head back to your table, where a party of four appears to have joined you. Maybe things are looking up.

However, you notice that your purse and jacket are gone. You start looking around, and they inform you that they have moved your things to the other table, as they wanted this one. You bring up that there are still four empty chairs, and that you could share the table with them, but they aren’t interested in that. You don’t want to cause a scene, so you go to the other table, where you have to hold your drink to keep it from spilling every time the staff door hits the table. 

Right when you begin to eat, a waiter comes around and asks if you are done. You tell him that you are not, and he informs you that they have been instructed to clear the tables, because the speaker is ready to talk. You reluctantly turn over your dinner and take out your note pad. 

The speaker steps up and introduces herself. The first thing she says is that she would prefer people not take notes, but just listen and pay attention instead. You sigh, and put your notepad aside. You decide that you will give her a shot, but if you start getting too bored, you will open your notepad and work on your poetry writing. 

As someone comes around with handouts, they ask you to put the notepad back in your bag. Now you are becoming truly irritated. You are a grown woman, for crying out loud. If you want to jot notes, or write poems, or doodle, or whatever, you should be able to do so. It’s not like you would be disturbing anyone.

You go ahead, though, and put away the notepad, although your movements make it obvious that you are aggravated. You start reading over the packet that was handed out. The speaker makes an announcement that she would prefer no one look ahead in the packet. You groan to yourself and close the packet.

The speaker begins her talk. After about half an hour, you are dozing off and ready to pull your hair out. She is only on page two of the packet, and you have glanced at the last page, so you know that there are forty – eight pages to go. You think about how absolutely dull this is. 

You decide that you can jot things in the margins of your handout. It will look like you are so engrossed that you must write key points, whereas in reality you will be working on poems and doodling. 

You glance around the room. Most of the people look as though they have turned into zombies following a cult leader and hanging on every word. However, there are some that look to be fidgety, leading you to the conclusion that you are not the only one here that is bored out of your skull.

By the time the speaker reaches page five on the handout, you can practically feel the brain cells leaving your head. Why, you wonder, do these ‘speakers’ always have to read word for word from their handouts? Don’t they know that their audience can read? And why do they always have to read in monotone? 

Finally, the speaker suggests a short break. She is allowing a ten minute break for approximately two hundred people to use the bathroom and hit vending machines. You see a lot of yawning and stretching as people emerge temporarily from their zombie – like state and begin to move around.

Of course, you notice, there always has to be those that crowd the speaker and lavish her with ultimate praise. This is so damn sickening. You know full well that these same people will be griping when they get home about how boring this was, and how much time they had to waste sitting here.

You haven’t made it into the bathroom yet when the speaker announces for everyone to return to their seats. Naturally, this means you will be walking in late again. People in line behind you begin heading back in, and you probably should, also, but you really have to pee. You choose to remain in line and make yet another grand entrance.

You return to your table, and the speaker is on page twenty of her fifty page handout. You suffer through the rest of the afternoon, jotting in the margins. Eventually, the day comes to an end and you can thankfully head home.

On your way out, through the masses of people visiting and those waiting in line to meet the speaker (some of which were the same ones that talked to her during the bathroom break), again no one speaks to you. You make it to your car, throw your bag and jacket on the passenger seat, and head for home.