“Come to order, or I will have the council chambers cleared immediately.” The crowd settled down slowly, and when they were quiet and had returned to their seats, he continued. “To reiterate, the curator of the Museum of Modern Art is proposing…” he glanced at his notes, “a public art project on Filbert Street. There is a motion to suspend no less than 137 pianos from ropes at varying heights above the street. The pianos will hang, at random, but close, intervals between Van Ness and The Filbert Street Steps.”
There was a round of applause and cheering from the standing room only crowd.
Mayor Jenkins pounded his gavel again, and they quieted.
He continued blathering, “This administration contends that public art projects of this ilk have become a cancer on this city. Further, a stop must be put to them before members of the public become injured by falling pianos or other such nonsense, reminiscent of a Road Runner cartoon.”
Boos and catcalls resounded from the gallery. The Arts Council seemed to be well supported here.
“Procedure dictates,” the mayor announced, over the disagreement of the audience, “that both arguments; will be heard at this meeting. You are aware that the official opinion of the administration is nothing but disdain for such a stupid and irresponsible proposal. I now have to allow time for the opposing position before I rule in favour of the city. So, Mr Curator, please approach the podium; state your name, your title, and your position on this idiotic proposal.”
A lithe young lady stood in the back of the room and began moving towards the aisle. She wore her red hair in a shingle cut and sported a flattering summer outfit that consisted of a bright green (not quite chartreuse) tight scoop neck top and purple shorts. She looked young, too young to be a museum curator. The mayor studied her as she moved gracefully down the aisle. His mouth hung open, and a tiny drop of saliva clung tenaciously at the corner where his lips met. Councilwoman Malarky reached up and pushed the mayor’s chin upwards, closing it.
At the podium, the young lady set a single sheet of paper on the surface in front of her and cleared her throat.
“Thanks, Mayor Jenkins, for giving me my say. I would like to go on record and state that it is Ms Curator, not Mr Curator. My name is Lucky Lou and I am the Curator of Exhibits at our MOMA. I have had the pleasure of serving in this position for the last ten years and hold a Doctorate in Fine Arts from City University. I understand that City U is your Alma mater as well, is it not Mayor?”
The mayor swallowed and nodded his head. He seemed smitten by this lovely lady. Lucky could see it, and so could the rest of the room. The mayor was hopelessly in love. Lucky decided to use this opportunity to her advantage. She skipped to the end of her speech.
“And, in conclusion, Mr Mayor that is why the city should approve the permits for this project.” She flashed her most enchanting smile. And the room erupted into thunderous applause.
The mayor blinked his eyes twice and shook his head as he awoke from his trance.
“I must say, Ms Lou,” he said as his eyes moved around the room, noting the support that this vision of loveliness had garnered, “You’ve convinced me. I apologize for my earlier, somewhat negative opinions of your proposal. I’ll push the paperwork through as my first order of business in the morning.”
Lucky stood tall and proud, holding her shoulders back. She said, “Thank you, Mayor,” and turned back towards her seat.
“Ms Lou?” The mayor stopped her in her tracks. “Would you like to go out to dinner with me?”
She shook her head.
Again she signalled in the negative.
Maybe we could share a Popsicle after the meeting adjourns.”
She smiled again, turned to face him, and this time she nodded her head.
He pounded his gavel on the podium again and announced, “Meeting adjourned.”
One Word Sunday wanted an Opposing post. I dug this up from six or seven years ago, dusted it off, shined it up just a little bit and figured I could share it. Did you find the opposition?