Non-Assigned Predestined Seating

What was it about the first meeting in that room that made me pick that seat? I knew I wanted to be in good earshot of my boss leading the meeting. But then, not so close I seemed like some kind of authority figure, or even that I’m someone to pay any attention to (I’m shy that way). I also knew I had to face the window for emergency zoneouts and weather checks.

Now, after years of meeting with the same people, it would cause confusion, questions, and possibly gossip if I were to change that seat. Sure, sometimes I pick the chair to the left—but that’s my only indulgence in predestined meetin’ seatin’.

I sometimes wonder (see ‘zoneouts’, above), what if I decided one morning to take the cop’s seat, over on the corner with his back to the windows [where no one can see the porn on his  crackberry]? I can be fairly certain he’d tell, not ask, me to move.

He did that once to another agency flunky, despite the fact that that particular flunky has “director” is in his title. The flunky relocated without even a shrug. (And we wonder why the NYPD has such inflated egos. Guns, not the officers, command a lot of compliance.) But what would the cop have done in the face of resistance—throw a tantrum? Tattle? Put a bullet in him?

Now that I think about it, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anybody but the cop make someone move from his non-assigned-but-still-predestined seat. Everyone else is just totally predictable and never strays from their lily pads.

The reasons for our return to the same seats is part of the collective subconscious. It returns us to a familiar perspective. There we can avoid the distractions of new views and pay better attention to what’s going on. It also instills complacency, a sense of community in which each of us knows our place. It also reflects our inherent agreeability, routine, and muscle memory.

In the room where the meeting is held, the seating also is hierarchical, with “regulars” around the table and “others” back in the additional-chair rows. The Others include both non-regulars and the men who wish to talk as little as possible. They mumble their answers and never offer information that’s not specifically asked for. Con Ed reps are always in the back rows.

Government People are Addicted to Crack…berries

So maybe we’re all a little guilty of it. A meeting is droning on and on, and you’re wondering why you were even invited, so your phone creeps out for a quick e-mail check. Next thing you know your boss’ boss is repeating your name to get you to snap out of your crackberry den while you’re texting about dinner plans.

Smartphones: The New Heroin.

In my construction meetings this happens every day, and the culprits are surprising. Almost always it’s the ‘higher ups’ with their noses buried in their Blackberries, nimbly wailing on those miniscule keys like their lives depended on it. Do they think it makes them look important? Are they driven to the crackberry by the dullness of the meeting or is it legit?

But more than the executive director, I always wonder what that NYPD sergeant is tapping out. Surely he’d say it was some highly confidential criminal-management communiqué. But when the meeting leader starts repeating his name, the sarge can barely look away. Obviously he’s looking at porn.

Most amusingly, I’ve seen a representative from an integral city agency typing on his crackberry WHILE GIVING A PRESENTATION. Damn that must be an important message. Probably something about a traffic signal going out, or a bicyclist struck by a wilding Access-a-Ride driver (‘driver’ is a loose term; ‘kamikaze’ is more fitting). No wait, they don’t take immediate action about such things….

Regardless, the cacophony of teeny ticking keys gives me bountiful food for speculation. The most consistently recurring thought: What did people do before ‘smart’ phones numbed their brains?