Big Brotherís Not the Only One Watching

By Jeanne Robertson

When I was in one of my shapeup crazes, I put on my warm-up outfit the afternoon of a banquet in Minneapolis and went to check the meeting room before heading out to walk.  The large facility was empty, and after seeing it, I had a question about the setup. Someone in the kitchen told me to wait in the ballroom while he contacted the person in charge.

     Back in the large hall, I passed the time counting tables, checking silverware, and straightening centerpieces. Not in a speaker's normal contract, it seemed like the neighborly thing.

     Unbeknownst to me, I had a couple of companions. Two guys working on the spotlights were behind a one-way glass up in the audiovisual room at the back of the hall.  Apparently they had me under constant surveillance.  (Itís a good thing I donít take silverware.)

     Minutes ticked away, and I was getting antsy because my exercise time was dwindling. I started stretching a little, reaching for my toes if not actually touching them every time. Still no one came.

     In a few more minutes, I moved out of sight of the main doors, got on the floor, and started doing sit-ups. Up, down, up, down. I hit my limit quickly, struggling on the last ones ó thirty-eeeeight, thirt-tee-ninnnne, forty!ó and fell back onto the floor, exhausted.

     Suddenly, a spotlight clicked its full beam directly on my body sprawled out on the floor.  A voice boomed through the sound system, "Come on, ma'am.  You can do five more."

(Reprinted with permission of Alamance Magazine.)

Jeanne Robertson, professional speaker and author, can be reached through
www.JeanneRobertson.com.