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Carver Communications - Index

Carver Communications - 5.1.08 - Index

By Cathey Meyer
Reflections Of A Non-Texter
I was invited to a wonderful luncheon
recently. The event was at an elegant
hotel and the attendees were notable
who’s who babes from our fair metropolis.
Wearing my best black suit and
uncomfortable shoes, I almost fit in to this
crowd of movers and shakers. (I would be
classified as a shaker due to my lack of
exercise and addiction carbohydrates.) As
I sat at the linen covered table decorated
with fresh flowers, semi-fine banquet
china, elegant stemware and too many
eating utensils accurately maneuver, I
tried my darnest to recall the limited etiquette
procedures Grandma Meyer taught
me in the summer of 1969 out by the
pecan tree while slamming back a few
Pearl Brewskies. Formal luncheons are
not on my list of fun ways to occupy time,
but I wanted to hear the speaker and was
honored to be included as a guest of the
event.
My table was located just to the
left of the podium near the front of the
packed room. I counted 40 tables seating
ten, so a room of 400 power women had
the potential of an estrogen overload.
Politicians, corporate power-brokers,
social climbers, entrepreneurs, second
and third wives of the see and be seen
crowd, MD’s, PhD’s, LLC’s and little old
me were sitting in waiting to hear the
words of wisdom from a nationally recognized
power babe in her own right.
Aggressive networking was dominating
traditional politeness. I was the first seated
at my table as I have nothing to network
and was not interested in adding to
my email spam list. I have my five friends
(and a waiting list of folks desiring to be
my friend) so meeting new people is not
high on my social climber tree chart. It
was much more fun to watch the floor
show.
Seating bingo was the first game
I could identify. Apparently, who sits
where and next to what is a big deal. My
thought was that we were all getting the
same meal, everyone could see the dais,
so what was the big deal? My table was
May 1 2008 REAL ESTATE NEWSLINE 7
very popular with those who felt they
were slighted by being places near the
back. I was just trying to figure out which
table would get served lunch first. For
me, that was the mark of excellence. As I
looked around the room, I realized most
of these women do not eat as they were
more movers than shakers. The few shakers
in the room were, like me, seated and
ready to skip the salad and move on the
more substantial calories. The huge slice
of chocolate cheese cake sitting at the top
of my plate could easily have been my
main course. I was hoping for a few
empty seats at my table so I could snag
seconds and thirds on dessert. Again, I
am a shaker.
As the ladies were finally done
networking and altering the seating, we
were requested to bow our heads for
moment of reflection before the meal.
The lady next to me took it literally as she
admired her reflection in her designer
compact. I was doing-the-dart; that is
looking side to side to see what the others
were doing. Other than the lady next to
me, no one was truly reflecting--they
were all texting. I may be technology
illiterate, but I can recognize a blackberry,
sidekick or chocolate when I see one and
sculpture nails were clicking across
miniature keypads as we were ‘thanking a
higher power for our good fortunes.’ I’ve
seen text messaging in action in many
places but never like this.
After our moment of reflection,
the Mistress of Ceremonies began her
introductions, but no one was looking up.
It appeared most all the coiffed heads
were still reflecting—when actually they
were all texting. As I scanned my right
side, I felt free to invade the screen of my
texting neighbor: “Where R U?” send.
Moments later, the reply: “IM N BCK.
NXT 2 UGLY RED SUIT.” Up my neighbor’s
head went in search of, well you get
the jest. To my left, read: “Did he call?”
send. Moments later, “Wife is next 2 U!”
Next text: “I NO ABOUT AFAIR. Tell
her 2 eat . . .” Even in abbreviated text, I
know when to look away.
How these women avoided
whiplash is a miracle in my book. While
NOT texting, I enjoyed an elegant walnut
salad, braised beef with lightly buttered
broccoli and garlic mash potatoes not to
omit the wonderful words of wisdom provided
by the event’s speaker. While the
other nine women at my table never
looked up during the meal, I also enjoyed
observing bad root jobs, thinning hair,
unsightly dandruff and the misuse of
Clairol #27. Nails clicked, heads would
bob-up in search of texting comments and
bob back down to respond. Seating bingo
was nothing compared to
‘Concentration’—the matching of who
was texting whom. Before long, I had
matched the ballroom with friends, enemies,
relatives, back-stabbers and IMers
in search of SMG (seeking more gossip).
The technology of texting is now
a new favorite with me. No, my limited
communication skills will not include the
art of communicating in the fewest possible
vowels on a screen the size of a credit
card . . .but the art of reading silent gossip
is a wealth of information.