This might not be the first time I was the Scorn, but
the last club I'd joined was the Brownies.
There had probably been subtle signs at previous meetings
of the Consumer Protection Society, but I suppose, so
wrapped up in the lecture given by the Junior Minister of
Commerce I didn't pick them up.
In the meeting before that one, there was a bit of unbalance
in which I "felt" my ideas were not treated with the same
respect as those of Derek or Angela, or even Minna.
Yes, the signs were there. I should have been more alert
to them instead of so wrapped up in the price gouging
practiced by the hardware merchants.
I should have been more focused on how other members were
relating to me than on the purpose the club was formed.
I guess the other members were. I guess they spent more time
on how they looked, on networking, than on protecting
consumers. Yes. They did. I was the only one who
constantly checked prices and was always ready to spring up
with the figures.
Today I'd raised my hand to contribute to the discussion on
the "No Return" policy of Camdon's and the Chair had not seen
my hand.
When I decided to blurt, he had glared. Recognised Dave,
then Hazel, who virtually repeated what I'd said, and he,
and the body, vociciferously agreed with her.
This was odd.
A few minutes later, the same thing happened again. I made
a point, it was knocked away as a mosquito, Devon repeated
it and was cheered.
"Excuse me, that is exactly what I said!" I inserted.
"Well, Devon put it clearer..." supplied Angela.
It was then I appreciated I had been crowned the Scorn.
The voices dulled into a drone, the room into a blur, and
breath was difficult. I wanted to get up and leave but it
would be too abrupt, so I sat wrapped in a bubble of self
until the break.
As the others moved to the refreshments, I moved to the
exit and left.
My ego was as flat as the road surface, potholes extra.
I reached home, trying to discern exactly what I had done,
said, been, which would have made me the Scorn, but there
was no one incident. I assumed nature abhorred a vacuum.
The next month I didn't even think of attending the meeting.
The following month I received a memo of the date, tossed it
in the trash.
After missing two meetings, I was rung up and invited.
I didn't go.
Just after the third missed meeting the Secretary accosted
me at the supermarket, and asked why I had ceased to attend.
I looked at her for a long moment.
"Too busy," I replied.
It was a lie, I'm sure she knew it, so began a diatribe as
to why I should "make time" for the meeting. I nodded sagely
as if I agreed with her.
I was not at the fourth monthly meeting either.
At the fifth, I came in late, went to the refreshment table,
drank a cup of coffee, ate a pastry and left. Paid no dues,
signed no register, spoke to no one.
I let the sixth pass, attended the seventh as I did the
fifth, simply for a free lunch.
A number of members sought me out, trying to get me back
into the fold. I didn't argue, I agreed.
I didn't attend the eighth meeting.
The President came to me one afternoon, asked why I had
ceased to attend.
"Find someone else to be the Scorn," I say, "I'm not
interested in the position."
He pretended he didn't understand.
It didn't matter.
I did.
Every organisation eventually appoints one person the
Universal Scorn. This is the one everyone decides to
ridicule and ignore.
It's like appointing a Secretary or Treasurer, only
the Scorn is a Secret position on no letter head.
Once you become the "comic relief" or the "necessary evil"
you are the Scorn.
Unless you're being very well paid, resign.
