This May Not Be Funny to You

Let me just start off by stating a couple of facts:

1. I am no lovely petite violet (Judy Juudy!).  I'm 5'7" and lately I've grown a third butt... now I'm like that old Baptist hymn, "Deep and Wide."  I've posted a few rare photos of myself on here, so you can verify that yourself.
2. I hate meetings.  Go ahead and vote for me to be the person who will find anything else I can to occupy my inner workings while people drone on and on about stuff that is only relevant to them personally and/or needs to be worked out in therapy rather than on my time.  I try to cover myself by paying attention to the best of my limited ability and throwing out some quasi-useful comment or argument when possible.  Last staff meeting I attended resulted in my being "Shannoned" (as in, "*Gasp!* Shannon!!  We can hear you! *nervous laughter*")
3. My sense of humor isn't always what you might call... um... funny.  Today Nancy and I had a conversation about her dying mother that would not have gone over well if anybody else were around.

That being said, let me tell you about yesterday.  We had a daylong staff development meeting.  The upside was that I'd get to see some of my compadres from my old office.


Oh yeah, and it was being held 12 minutes from my home.


Oh OH yeah, and because we are enslaved by an idiotic union, employees from other areas could not possibly be made to "start work" (i.e., get on a bus at their job sites) before 7:30.  So registration didn't even begin until 8:30.  I slept until 7:00.


I got there early to procure seats for my peeps.  Due to some personal needs of certain members, I selected the last row on the center aisle.  It was perfect.  Close to the restrooms.  Close enough to read what's on the 20' x 25' screen up front.  Far enough to check my email and send texts "as necessary."


In true I'm-surrounded-by-office-types fashion, someone got a little pissy because I saved three other seats on the back row.  Bite me lady, there are five other back rows.  That's right, we work in education, but nobody still wants to sit up front.


My peeps arrive and we're merrily chatting about who knows what when the we are called to attention.  I turn to face the front only to find that it has disappeared.  Completely. 


That 20 x 25 screen?  Occasionally I could make out our logo on the top left corner.  Once or twice I saw a letter or two on the bottom right.


Why?  Because a ginormous woman, who must have been a professional swimmer... or a linebacker... before she grew her third ass... was sitting in front of me. 


I took a picture and sent it to Nance.  Her response made me laugh out loud:


"What - no hat?!"


I'm not including that picture here, because it seems to cross a line even more than my telling the story here.