It was a first for me.
In all these years of attending city council meetings, I’ve never been able to do so in my pajamas.
I mean, I guess I could have shown up in my pajamas. There’s no sign on the door saying, “You must be dressed in business casual or better to attend.” I just never tried it before.
It just might have been distracting … having the council members trying to count the number of Darth Vaders on my sleep attire.
That was until last week, when the meeting was hosted electronically.
It was a conflicting experience. One part of me felt the relief of, “Finally, I don’t have to wear real pants,” while the other part of me strained to hear what was being said.
Unfortunately, we don’t all have Spielberg’s sound guy to mix our electronic meetings, so you really have to listen closely to get what’s going on. Some people in the meeting had echo effects, and as a result sounded a bit like what I what I imagine the fabled, yet unrecorded, 10th Led Zeppelin album to be.
As is invariably the case, ironing out the technical issues ate up the first several minutes of the meeting.
“Can you hear me?”
“No? How about now?”
“Who is this?”
“Wait we need that guy on this?”
“Can you hear me now?”
“I don’t think this thing is working.”
One can see the advantages of just meeting in the same room and sharing all our filthy germs. Yeah, I know I could contract a deadly virus, but that would sure beat seeing what I look like from the low angle of my phone’s camera.
Speaking of which, my phone died with about five minutes left. So the city council could have passed ordinances cancelling Christmas, making it illegal for anyone under age 19 to live in city limits and giving themselves a nickel raise, and I wouldn’t know about it. Although, I fully support giving a raise to anyone whom makes such bold decisions.
A follow-up phone call the next day confirmed my suspicions — in the typical fiscally conservative fashion of Richfield City, Christmas is still on, my children are still legal to own and graze in city limits and no one got any raises.
I didn’t unmute my microphone during the meeting. I didn’t want to add to an already confusing situation. Also, I couldn’t figure out how to.
One council member remarked this way of having a meeting “stinks.” That’s something I think everyone could agree with. It’s so much better to be able to look around the room, address people directly and see who is sleeping through the audit report.
On the plus side, even I could besmirch the process of city government with Darth Vader pajamas, so I opted for track pants instead.
In the interest of full disclosure, track pants have never actually been used on a track. In fact, it seems the only time you see track pants at a track meet is when the athletes take them off to compete.
So in the spirit of honesty, they’re crumpled, laying-on-the-side-of-the-track pants.
My crumpled, laying-on-the-side-of-the-track pants are so comfortable, when I slip them on I don’t feel like running anywhere except directly to my couch. Once safely there I tend to make bad decisions, like binge watching “Tiger King” and binge eating my kids’ Easter candy. Then later in the night, I can binge complain about my stomachache resulting from too many peanut butter eggs. Or perhaps it’s my body’s reaction to being subjected to “Tiger King” for four hours straight.
Unfortunately, no Carol Baskin-related conspiracies were brought up during the meeting, which is a shame. A few tiger murder accusations can liven up any meeting.
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