As shocking as this seems, I am now an executive
vice-president.
Yes, it’s true. But before you start congratulating me and
asking me for personal favors and inside trading tips and all that,
I don’t mean of a Fortune 500 company. No sir-ee. I mean I’m the
executive vice-president of the middle school PTA.
As shocking as this seems, I am now an executive vice-president.
Yes, it’s true. But before you start congratulating me and asking me for personal favors and inside trading tips and all that, I don’t mean of a Fortune 500 company. No sir-ee. I mean I’m the executive vice-president of the middle school PTA.
And to think that only yesterday, according to the guidelines my daughter set up for me, I wasn’t allowed to get out of the car, or do anything to suggest I was about to approach the school. Now I have a title. A TITLE.
How did something like this happen to someone like me, you ask? Well, I’d like to say that I’ve always wanted to help out and build community and support my child’s school. And all that’s certainly true. But it was mainly because I was unanimously voted in, since I was running against, well, absolutely no one.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to insinuate it was a big set up or anything. I’m just saying that I received an invitation to attend an “informal soiree where there would be free food, lively conversation and an intriguing video.” No one mentioned that this also happened to be the meeting where new board members are elected because all of the old members are, by the way, LEAVING.
Now a wiser person would’ve seen right through this flimsy charade at the mention of “soiree” and “free food” and not gone in the first place. A halfway wiser person would’ve at least taken a day to think it over. And me? Well, I wanted to say, “But I’m so busy between working and taking care of my family and running to sports practice and piano lessons and all that I couldn’t possibly squeeze one more thing without adding at least five bazillion more hours onto my day.” But instead all that came out was, “Uh, okay.”
Before I go on, let me just stop right here and say that I have absolutely nothing against the PTA. We all know that the PTA does a lot of good work. They raise money for sports programs and school improvements and on and on. But there’s nothing to quite prepare a person for going from PTA Slacker one minute to being nominated, elected and sworn in as executive vice-president the next.
That said, before you start worrying that all this newfound power will go to my head, don’t bother. The good news is that, when I searched for the official job description of Executive Vice President, there was nothing listed. Not even the part about holding the gavel. Clearly, I am merely a figurehead. So I did what any good politician would do: I made up a job description to make me look important. It reads:
The Executive Vice President of the PTA is hereby in charge of shopping and coffee. This includes, but is not limited to: purchasing new carpet and color-coordinated mini blinds for the school office, installing a Starbucks kiosk in the quad area, supplying each teacher with a personal espresso maker, replacing all florescent lights with scented candles, and, oh yeah, buying cute shoes.
Oh stop. Of course I’m only kidding.
But before you go thinking that my board position is total fluff, let me just say that what it lacks in substance it makes up for in pressure. Yes, pressure. This is because my current laissez faire way of life will come to a screeching halt if the PTA president decides to suddenly move/resign/disappear/join the circus.
So my real duty as executive vice-president is to keep the president happy and healthy and accounted for at all times so that I can remain useless. Sneaky? Sure. Cynical? Yep. Impractical? Maybe.
But, hey, if that’s not real politics, I don’t know what is.
