Scribbler's Cafe

Meeting Marathon Malady

First Impressions:
I want to laugh out loud at the absurdity of the moment. A solemn circle of men speaking in a language I can’t understand. Only half pay attention to the speaker. The others write themselves notes, shuffle papers, sip tea – two are sleeping. Then there is me, the young white woman with the wide eyes and the bemused smile. The men may all be speaking gibberish for all I know – yet here I am in my pressed shirt and dress shoes trying to look professional and interested.
I imagine for a moment the scene I would cause if I could hold the hilarity back no longer and burst out in booming laughter. I would have to excuse myself from this meeting, giggle my way down the stairs and spend the rest of the day wandering the streets of this strange land rejoicing in all the wonderful, fantastic things I see.

Thirty minutes from start of meeting:
I’m sitting there happily blissed out on the meaningless drone of the principal’s Japanese and suddenly ‘blah, blah, blahdie blah” gives way to a crystal clear “Nelson Sensei, please say something.” The teacher to my left jabs me with her elbow and whispers for me to stand up.
Uhhhh…..
I have no idea what they want. I figure I’m being introduced and asked to say something about myself, but I don’t know if a simple hello, nice to meet you would do - or if I’m supposed to say more. I say something about being glad to be there and excited for the opportunity to teach at their wonderful school. Then I manage a polite phrase in Japanese and sit down as quick as possible. Everyone claps. The principal resumes his blah-de-blah drone. Dan leans over and said, “Good job.” OK, sure.

Two hours from start of meeting:
I am no longer amused.
This meeting is death. Just two hours into it and I wish for a wired jaw to help me restrain my yawns. I am overjoyed that noon is approaching and that we will (probably) break for lunch. My stomach is empty and folding in on itself. Now the principal is making an announcement – the “regular” staff meeting will now begin. There’s only 15 minutes until noon. My hopes for a timely lunch are devastated.

Four hours from start of meeting:
The principal speaks a long string of syllables, soft vowel tones, smooth and steady like a typewriter. I am amazed that, despite the varying combinations of sounds coming from his throat, I have not heard a single coherent word.
My presence is wasted here, even is my existence on this earth as a living thinking creature. Please shoot me now.

Ten hours from start of meeting:
The meeting has moved from the school to the conference center. The official retreat has begun. Although, retreat is really just code for “the meeting that goes so long you can’t even go home to your loved ones at night.” In light of our more casual, relaxing environment (now the metal chairs have cushions) many of the teachers have changed their clothes. For some, going casual meant changing from a plain white polo shirt to a polo shirt with kicky grey and maroon stripes with the top button left undone. Kicky indeed.

One Day, four hours from start of meeting:
There are some bright points to this useless waste brain cells and butt fat. During a rare intermission in the marathon meeting, I found an exit and crept out onto the roof of the conference center. The slippers I wore were five sizes too big and flip-flopped loudly as I shuffled to the railing. The sun had just set. Small streaks of blushing clouds reached out to the ocean behind me. Ahead, darkness closed in quickly. I leaned against the rail and watched the misty layers of mountains fade one-by-one into fuzzy darkness while the cicadas serenaded me with their rhythmic songs. Lovely moment.

Also, when the meeting finally broke after 10pm (to resume the next morning at 7am), I got to visit the conference center bath. There are only two other women teachers at my school, but the women were assigned to the “big bath” on account of a visiting group of insurance counselors that outnumbered our men two-to-one. Submerging myself in the scalding waters completely wiped the day out of my mind. It felt wonderful to be surrounded by people who wanted nothing more than to be ignored.

One Day, nine hours from start of meeting:
I decided to think of the experience as a hazing of sorts. Now that I’ve suffered through their most painful, torturous activity I may be regarded as one of the pack.

posted by Scribbler @ Tuesday, September 07, 2004