The meeting is called to order. I sit up straight, hands on the table. Randy, my Seeing Eye dog, is down below, alert and observant. Under the table, committee members are scrutinized
The minutes of the last meeting are read. I don’t recall anything of the sort taking place. Randy makes nose contact with fidgeting fingers. Under the table, body language gets noticed.
The minutes are approved. Who was the spin doctor behind that fiction? Randy emits a foghorn moan. Under the table, authentic opinions get expressed.
Old Business gets old. We’ve been through all this before. Randy curls up and naps. I wish I could join him. Under the table, energy is conserved.
New business sounds half-baked. Suggestions veer off at obtuse angles. Randy puts his head on my foot. Under the table, connections are established.
The chairman wants to strategize. Everyone becomes suddenly stupid. Randy uses his little front teeth to pry dried chewing gum from the underside of the table. Down below, ingenuity goes full blast.
The chairman proposes a sub-committee. I hear eyes darting. Randy crawls to Moses and the two guide dogs chomp on each other’s heads. Under the table, collaboration is the buzzword.
The chairman calls for volunteers. Everyone looks at one another, I think. Randy waves one arm in the air. Under the table, the prospect of service is enthusiastically received.
Ad campaigns are devised. One slogan uses the word “chow.” Each time that word gets said, Randy pops up and hits his head on the underside of the table. Down under, marketing concepts get results.
There’s a motion to adjourn. I second it. The motion passes. The chairman says meetings must be boring for Randy. I tell him he’d be surprised, that a lot goes on in places people can’t see, down in the meeting under the meeting.