Just the Perverts and Your Momma

Last fall, I started attending the monthly KC Chapter of STC meetings. The meetings are rather interesting: a handful of technical writers gathering together to discuss their trade. Ranging from consultant writers to salaried technical writers to college professors that teach technical and professional writing, there's quite the representation that attend the meetings.

Well, as much representation as you can get from an average attendance of nine people. While KC has approximately 90 members living in the metro area, an average of nine of us are attending the meetings.

I typically don't say anything at these meetings, just sit and listen to everyone talk. (I'm guessing I'm the youngest person attending the KC STC meetings by about 15 years, with the average age being around 55.) Occasionally the conversation regresses into these random topics, much like when I visit my 84-year-old grandma and my 93-year-old great aunt and I try to hold a conversation with both of them. There's no logic to our conversation, and certainly no ending point. Because while I might be talking about the weather, my grandma will start talking about something she saw on TV, and my great aunt starts talking about her bowel movements. It's not a linear conversation.

Last night held a couple of the moments for me. The topic of last night's meeting was accuracy. So one of the members put together a nice handout on writing with accuracy and did an overview of the subject. In the midst of the conversation, somehow the discussion of serving on a jury came up. Suddenly the woman presenting on accuracy said "Well, you know the only time those perverts get a haircut and wear a suit is when they're on trial." Which immediately made me cock my head to the side and think Whaaa-?

A little while later, the presenter was discussing how you need to make sure that you're writing for the appropriate audience at the appropriate level. Another woman sitting at the table interrupted her to provide some real-life experience about when her coworker created a class on making sure that people write at a basic level for the targeted audience. The name of the class was Writing for Your Momma. After providing some details about what sounded like a great class, she ended her story by saying "But, of course, I reported him to HR for the name of his class. I mean, we just don't talk like that around here."

Try as I might, I couldn't stiffle my giggles. I'm hoping they don't ban me from the next meeting for being too young and immature...