43

He has not previously been told of a meeting, of course, despite the contempt of the voice on the phone. (And, anyway, who keeps putting things in his pockets? He has no idea, and feels a little violated. But he can stomach this level of violation, can't he? After all, he thinks, he has had his hand cut off. Everything else is peanuts.) He decides to act as he imagines committee members who are called to be reminded of meetings act. With corresponding, yet greater contempt. And it would, in part, be an act, for although most people who participate in meetings complain bitterly and often about how much they hate them, most of those people -- himself included -- at some deep and hidden part of their psyche actually rather enjoy them because it gives them a sense of being needed. A sense, perhaps beyond this, of being able at some point to throw their weight around. And he has to admit this to himself -- of late he has had absolutely no opportunities whatsoever to throw his weight around. And, so far as he is concerned, it has gotten damn' well and high time he was given such an opportunity. For he will take concerted advantage of this opportunity, and will damn' well throw around whatever weight he has, and, should he find himself with no weight to throw around will damn' well do whatever it takes to find himself some weight that he will be able to throw around and, having found that weight, will begin throwing it!
I was never told of a meeting for today, he says with an appropriate sneer.
There was a silence at the other end.
Oh, he thinks, this was going to be good.