My first presentation to Town Council took place in the “open concept” library of our local elementary school. The furniture in the library is made for little kids. The Council meeting resembled a gathering of circus bears, as we all perched like giants upon chairs made for Hobbits.
I was transfixed by the involuntary arm movements of one Councilwoman. As the Town business droned on her arm would randomly shoot straight up in the air, like some fascist salute, before returning slowly to her side. This went on all night. Only later did I observe that she was, in fact, knitting. The exaggerated arm jerk was her pulling fresh strands of yarn from the huge ball at her feet. She was Knitler.
Finally my turn came. I had just begun my pitch to Council when some boys playing basketball in the adjacent gym crashed through the door. They dribbled basketballs down the hallway towards us while keeping up a steady patter of profanity. Council fell silent as the boys swarmed like a pack of wolves around the water fountain. They finally saw us and froze, silent, unsure what to do next. The Police Chief, rising unsteadily from his tiny chair, walked over and respectfully ushered them all back into the gym.
I resumed my overview, only to be interrupted again. This time from the English-as-a-second-language group meeting in one of the rooms beside the library. The class of mostly Latino students was learning how to pronounce the letter “V” in English. As they practiced aloud, each student would exclaim, “I llluubbb America. I lllluubbb it here.” The Police Chief, who had not yet returned to his tiny chair, walked across the library to their classroom and gently closed the door.
The final interruption came courtesy of the janitor. He was pushing a floor-cleaning-zamboni machine while pumping gangster rap through his headphones. Oblivious to our presence, he was doing some suggestive dance moves. He even spanked the Zamboni at one point. He finally looked up, and his eyes widened in horror as he locked on to the assembled Council staring at him. It was exquisitely uncomfortable. The moment was made perfect as Knitler’s arm shot into the air. The shamed janitor zambonied away as quickly as he could, leaving a strip of shimmering floor in his wake that made my Canadian blood race.
Moments like this make me proud of my community. Immigrants trying to make it in a new land. Neighbours voluntarily giving up their evening to carry out the tedious business of a small town. A school left open at night to contain unruly boys. A Police Chief who treats everyone with respect and grace. Despite its manifest problems, there is still so much to lluubb about America.
NB: Photo credit to www.heyuguys.com
LOL, indeed. I re-read the post to enjoy the thought of the Zamboni being “spanked suggestively.” Heck, I’m still smiling, and it’s Monday morning! Thanks, Chuck.
I laughed out loud at this one! Several times! I will now carry in my mind forever an image of you perched precariously one of those tiny chairs.
Keep up the fine work!