KEYNOTE CATASTROPHE

KEYNOTE CATASTROPHE

J.D. McDonald

Shortly after I published my book on raising quail, I was invited to be the keynote speaker at a Bird Club. The event took place in a town located four hours' drive from my home. Since we were unfamiliar with the city, Karen, the club's representative, suggested we meet early at a local restaurant near the main highway. She invited us to grab dinner there and then follow her to the event. Karen said that the club would cover the cost of dinner for my husband and me before the meeting.

Because Karen was in the process of moving to a new home, she told us to scan the parking lot when we arrived and look for a white pickup truck loaded with various household items. She also mentioned that if we ran late, she might go into the restaurant and secure a table for us. In that case, we should look for a "Mutt and Jeff" pair, explaining that she is very short and would be with another club member, Jane, who is exceptionally tall and walks with a cane. Finding them sounded simple.

Since it was a long trip and we weren't sure of the exact location of the restaurant, we left earlier than necessary. As it turned out, we needn't have worried; the restaurant was easy to find. We arrived at 5 p.m., leaving us thirty minutes before our 5:30 p.m. meeting.

At 5:15 p.m., we noticed a tall, solitary woman using a cane making her way toward the restaurant door. It seemed like she was looking for someone, so we quickly got out of the car and hurried toward her. Excited and a bit anxious, we asked, "Are you Jane?" She matter-of-factly told us she wasn't Jane. Apparently, our sudden, unexpected approach panicked her a bit because she lifted her cane slightly off the ground in a defensive manner. We apologized and returned to our vehicle.

We sat there, craning our necks in all directions, searching for our hostess, until finally, at six o'clock, a white pickup truck struggling under the weight of what seemed to be an entire household of boxes and furniture raced wildly into the parking lot. A short woman burst from the driver's side and ran toward the restaurant. Catching up to her, we confirmed it was Karen The other club member, Jane, the tall lady with the cane, was a no-show.

We enjoyed a nice dinner, although it was rushed due to our late start. After dessert and coffee, Karen handed the waiter a credit card to pay the bill. Unfortunately, the waiter informed her that the restaurant didn't accept that card. Since it was Karen's only card and we wanted to avoid washing dishes to pay for our meal, we used our credit card instead. Karen was upset but mentioned that the club would send us a reimbursement check in a few days.

As we stepped outside, Karen told us to follow her to the community center where the bird club was meeting for my speech. Despite the debit card glitch and the late start, we remained optimistic. However, that feeling waned when Karen drove out of the parking lot at mach-one speed, leaving us struggling to follow her through the dark streets of an unfamiliar city. Karen, an experienced rush hour driver, expertly navigated through traffic, weaving in and out of lanes and driving like the Tasmanian Devil. Her taillights blended in with the others, so we could only follow by catching occasional glimpses of her massive load of belongings. Unfortunately, we lost sight of her when a large truck cut us off, and we were lost. 

After twisting through a maze of random turns and doubling back several times, we found the community center by sheer luck. We rushed through the door in a frenzy at 7:15, just fifteen minutes before my talk was scheduled to begin. Surprisingly, Karen appeared unfazed by losing us in traffic. She was sipping coffee and calmly chatting with club members. On the other hand, my husband and I felt like we had just taken part in a high-speed car chase.

Karen smiled warmly when she saw us arrive and introduced us to the club president and secretary. They informed us that the D.V.D. Player I would be using for my presentation was not working. However, they assured me they had called for a backup unit, which would arrive in time for my talk. Karen then took the D.V.D. I brought and placed it on the old player. It contained a slide show of the quail I would be discussing.  

 By 8:00 p.m., the backup unit had yet to arrive, and people were restless. Maybe it was my nerves, but I sensed a massive walk-out was about to happen. Even though I was discussing quail, the theme for that night's meeting was "Bring your Parrot." Every member had their parrot with them, so there was an overwhelming crescendo of parrot caws and screeches followed by flapping wings and loose flying feathers. Occasionally, a rebellious parrot would leave its owner's shoulder and fly crazily about the room. The commotion caused by the flying birds and the overwhelming din of the club members as they chatted with each other and with their birds was unsettling. The player had not arrived by 8:15, so the club president decided to start the scheduled raffle. This caught the club members attention for a while, but I grew increasingly apprehensive and nervous with each passing minute.

The new equipment finally arrived at 8:30 p.m. It was delivered by the club president's son, who seemed to be in his early twenties. He quickly dropped it off and left without setting it up. The arrival of the equipment briefly relieved some of my stress. I wanted to give my talk and go home. I'd had enough chaos for one evening. But there was yet another delay.

As the minutes ticked by, it became increasingly clear that no one was familiar with the new equipment. I watched as several people attempted to connect various cables, none of which fit. At this point, I had a pounding headache and a dry mouth; the precursor to a migraine. Amidst this chaos, the president took the stage, praising my expertise with quail. It was clear he was stalling. Then, a voice from the crowd announced that the projector was finally ready. The president thrust the microphone into my hand, and I was on stage.

Weak applause went up from the weary and restless group, and I thanked them for asking me to participate in their club meeting. For my introduction, a photo from my D.V.D. showing a basket of baby quail was supposed to appear on the large screen behind me; it didn't. Instead, a loud scream from the speakers filled the room, and scenes of a gruesome horror movie appeared. It was more than I could handle. All the blood rushed to my head, and I had to grasp the podium to keep my legs from buckling. I croaked, "That's not my D.V.D.! It's not mine!" Could anything else go wrong? Of course, it could. The man operating the machine couldn't figure out how to shut it off until it was too late—much, much too late. The club members saw about two minutes of the grotesque show, that to me felt a lifetime.

The young man who delivered the projector must have been watching that movie when asked to deliver the equipment to the club. Either he forgot to remove it, or it was his way of getting back at them for making him give up his evening's entertainment. I suspect the latter; that would explain his leaving in a hurry and not setting it up. Before the clamoring stopped, someone crept on stage and whispered, "I know we scheduled you for an hour, but can you cut it to thirty minutes or less?" I wanted to make it a lot less. I wanted to leave right then, but I tried to be stoic.

As if all that had gone wrong that evening wasn't enough, the stress and my allergy to parrot dander triggered a minor asthma attack, and I could barely breathe, let alone talk. My voice vibrated so badly that it sounded like I was trying to speak while roller skating over a washboard sidewalk. Someone handed me a tiny paper cup of water, which, with my shaking hand, I managed to spill over my notes, rendering them useless.

Looking back, I'm still unsure what I said during the talk; it felt like I was babbling and rambling. I stumbled through it without the aid of the slide show presentation and rushed off the stage in less than fifteen minutes.

A few days later, I received an email from the club apologizing for the chaos and inviting me to speak again in two months. Unfortunately, I am busy that night, whatever night it might be. My days of public speaking are over for good.