As the Polygon Turns: Pageantry (Episode 12)

Though often thought provoking, the conference I attended earlier this week was beset by boring moments of poor oratory or overbelabored scholarship. To amuse myself during these latter instances, I created a beauty pageant in my head, featuring the conference attendees. Now these people to whom I refer are by no means "knockout models" or even people of "inner beauty." These individuals were those who might inspire you to sarcastically exclaim: "Look at him/her! S/He is a real beauty!" (or even a "bute," for short). So here you go, you be the judge. Here are the top five contestants:

Contestant #1:
He's a 40 something year old man sporting a Navy blue sportsjacket. Unable to decide whether he's hot or cold, he periodically puts his jacket on and takes it off. When he's not wearing it, he fastidiously arranges it as he might a drapery for the back of his chair. Careful to keep the shoulder pads just so, I wonder why he has been careless enough to fail to notice that his left sleeve has one fewer button than the right. He is THE MAN WITH SEVEN BUTTONS.

Contestant #2:
This man is a prune personified if he is anything at all: wrinkled in face, body, speech, and clothing. I am amazed that I had overlooked him all morning up until lunchtime - perhaps because OCD 7 button boy was my shiney nickel of the morning. He's easily 60-something with silvergrey hair scraggled about his neck and a bearded face like a lovingly crumpled dog bed. A yellowing undershirt tries to free itself at the collar from the confines of a scrunched up blue buttondown shirt stuffed into a green tweed blazer that had its heyday in the late 60s (1860s maybe). He carried his head like it was an obligation, craning it above the level of his hunched back, as a turtle would from its shell. And if appearances were insufficient, we witnessed the true breadth of his persona when he engaged us in conversation. Here is how it happened. My buddy JP and I were alternately hovering and (we'd like to think non-descriptly) pecking away at the dessert buffet spread, when the walrus made eye contact with us and started talking to us. So much as I can recall, our repartee went thus:
"Well, you know I just love blah military blah dishes in the sink in the grand canyon on a Thursday cream cheese afternoon bicycle fish armoire skates it was nice and I can remember times when clocks and general chairs with wheels friends on ice and cake with peach colored manage projects major tables..."
"Yes, hmmm" I said.
"You see, the best time was when flights of mice and mess machines with clown noses finger sandwiches..."
"Oh, yeah," JP chimed in.
"I am telling you that the jeeps of captain made the crumpets laugh and pickled dresses red and green Martians hot spots on the moon with green cheese..."
"Yes, hmmm," I nodded, feigning interest (what was he saying??).
"And so those were just the dog in the cat house of dinosaur history of the blah blah COOKIES!"
"Yes, Sir, I know exactly what you mean." JP affirmed.
Me, I nodded and noted aloud that the next presentation was about to begin. I excused myself. Holy crap, I can't believe JP followed that. I so suck at listening. A little while later, I asked JP what the guy was talking about and he said, "I have absolutely no idea. The only word I could make out was 'cookies,' and then he stopped talking." Oh, okay. That is contestant #2, The Walrus (coo-coo-cuh-choo).

Contestant #3:
Old Miss Inappropriate. She's a 45 yr+ woman in a mini skirt "Ohmigosh, Linda did you see that??!" Face quietly exclaimed with a look of quiet revulsion.
"No."
"She walked right by you as you were coming back to sit down... I don't know how you could have missed it." He waved his hand dismissively. "Some people do NOT need to be wearing miniskirts. Maybe 25 years ago… or maybe not..."
A little while later, during a presentation, he whispered and motioned for me to look across the room. And 'Oh My' was right. I saw her from a side profile, she wore navy blue tights, chunky pumps, a thigh-length cream-colored blazer and nothing else, so far as I could tell. Her skirt was THAT short. By the looks of her dyed, stringy black hair, monstrous quadriceps, and pancaked face, this broad was clearly past her prime. What could she have been thinking this morning when she assembled that outfit?
"She just has no business, no business, wearing a skirt like that," Face said, flabbergasted. She is OLD MISS INAPPROPRIATE.


Contestant #4:
Man with prostate problem(?). Before these days when they advertise every drug imaginable on TV, this thought would never have occurred to me. But as I saw a somewhat portly, concerned man, piddling about the conference room floor, in and out of the door, up and down from his table, back and forth to the exit, I thought, “perhaps he has a very week bladder. Perhaps his growing problem has become a going problem.” He’d sit down, seem very engaged, write a few notes, then apparently without cause, he’d get up, look around, and apologetically make his way to the door. Within five minutes, he’d inevitably return, stride to his seat and seem to pick up right where he left off. Fifteen to twenty minutes later, he would repeat the process. What was this man about, I wondered, what was his struggle? I began to feel sorry for him that he had to couldn’t stay engaged in the conference, listen to the speakers, and have his thoughts provoked instead of his bladder. Over the course of the day, however, it hit me. He doesn’t have a prostate problem… he is the main orchestrator of the conference. I am not sure if this suddenly banal fact and behavioral justification disqualifies him, but there you have it, Contestant #4: COMPULSIVE CONFERENCE COORDINATOR MAN.

Contestant #5:
Linen Lover. Okay, let me put this in perspective, it’s late October. We are in Virginia, not Cuba. It is NOT that hot here. Not hot enough to justify wearing an entire linen outfit. I think that this man simply wears linen as an excuse not to iron. One summer when I was in Montreal, I went shopping and considered buying a linen dress. Honestly what sold me on it was the gay guy’s declaration that wearing this, I need not worry about the wrinkles, “You’re on the metro, it’s hot and sticky, you get up, the back of your dress is all wrinkled, but no problem! Shoosh, it’s linen! No one ever expects linen NOT to be wrinkly, Sweetheart!” Oh, okay. I want to tell this man to just look around him: plenty of well-dressed and semi well-dressed men in Black, Navy, and Gray suits, Khaki pants and sports jackets… Seriously, Dude, why did you opt for the linen pants, linen jacket, and linen shirt? Was it to match your wrinkly leather bag? …hmmm wrinkles seem to be a fixation sticking point with me today. First the walrus, now this bloke. I know where he is coming from, but I can’t help but feel that his passion for this particular textile is a cop out on one of life’s essential chores: ironing. He IS THE LINEN LOVER.

So, what ‘ill it be? Who gets the award for Bute of the Weak? :
(1) MAN WITH SEVEN BUTTONS aka OCD BOY
(2) THE WALRUS aka COOKIE MONSTER
(3) OLD MISS INAPPROPRIATE aka MINISKIRT BITCH
(4) COMPULSIVE CONFERENCE COORDINATOR MAN aka POTENTIAL PROSTATE PROBLEM PERSON
(5) LINEN LOVER aka PRESSING PROTESTOR