The annual meeting of our condominium homeowner associations is as appealing an event as a root canal. On the other side, it offers the best in entertainment, featuring drama, comedy and tragedy.
With the pomp of the British parliament, the board of directors arrives first. Its two top members obviously spend too much time watching BBC drama.
Our president parodies a comic/drama foppish barrister, sans wig. For contrast, the vice president, a female, assumes a Margaret Thatcher persona. Her nasal, ear-grinding accent is at odds with her attempts at aristocracy.
The remaining board members defer to the two heads. Their primary function serves to provide unconditional support to whatever lunacy the president proposes.
The stooges arrive next to scoop up first row seats. For the most part, they are longtime residents, whose primary role in the meeting is to nod in bobble headed agreement to whatever lunacy the board proposes.
The property manager, a hybrid of Al Capone and Larry of the three stooges completes this unusual alliance.
The audience is comprised of four sectors of attendees:
- New residents with shiny faces, full of hope, optimism and the false belief the board is eager to embrace new ideas.
- Bobble heads, residents of the community since Truman was in office, believe the board knows best and “will take care of them”.
- Rebel rousers who dare to ask pointed questions about finances.
- Those who came to see a good fight.
The meeting begins with the president, preening and sniffing as he recounts the board’s accomplishments over the previous year. A nauseous exchange between him and the vice president cite the many hours that they have volunteered to make our community outstanding.
All is going rather well, until the rebel rouser demands a detailed explanation regarding budget items, i.e. what the heck have you been doing with our money?
The foppish barrister becomes vexed, confused and a tad defiant at this request. He is uncomfortable having to explain anything of substance and defers to the property manager. The property manager turns his full tilt “how dare you question finances” gaze on the inquirer. Stopping short of invoking the Fifth Amendment, his explanation fails to explain.
Short of a SEC investigation, we will never get an unblemished, factual accounting. At this point, a bobble head teeters to her feet and proclaims how much she appreciates management and the care she has received over the years. Never mind the fact her particular unit could be condemned for lack of compliance with municipal codes.
At this point, failing a biker bar fracas over irresponsible fiscal management, significant change is not going to occur. The same set of duds will be re-elected to serve by acclamation.
A spot of Beefeaters gin would have made it easier to swallow their performance.