Longtime Lurker De-Lurks, Participates in Local Activity
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A testimonial to The BoMB, and the people who write it
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Yet Another Proclaims Surprise at Test Results
By Janis Dodson
April 2006
Hello, I am Janis and I am a lurker. I am one of those mysterious Mensa members who have the membership card, but hide it away. I have not attended any meetings, nor have I participated in any local events. That will change soon, and as the first step in my de-lurking process, I would like to record and share my story. A story often told, but unique to me.
I took the Mensa test on a whim. The impulse was without reason — I don’t even balance my own checkbook — but I wrote an apparently good check for thirty dollars and took the test back in August 2004. Why? I don’t know. Wouldn’t a genuine genius be smart enough to know if she were smart? Still, a girl can hope.
Fully expecting to hear, “Sorry, nice try”, I thought there had been a mistake when a real-true-genuine-and-actual congratulatory letter came in the mail. Something had to be wrong. Either somebody spilled coffee on my score sheet and skewed the results in my favor, or they were having a strange Friday at the headquarters in Arlington, Texas, and decided to let in some of the regular folks, ha ha, as a joke.
Many possibilities came to mind to explain the incongruity between what the letter said and what I thought of my intellectual competence, but the letter was real-true-genuine-and-actual. It said I qualified, and if I sent in the paperwork, I could be a member and participate in local activities.
“Is that what you want?” I asked myself. “To be a member and participate in local activities?” Yes! No! I don’t know! Yes, there will be smart people exchanging witty repartee while working Sudoku puzzles with only four numbers, while planning to do good for the community. No, there will be smart people discussing nuances of obscure directors through their noses urbanely, and when you escape to the powder room, they will look at each other sympathetically, concluding in unison, “Probably a victim of that prank they pulled in Arlington, Texas, on that strange Friday, in August of 2004.”
It took me a year to send in my dues, and it has taken almost another year to get the bazookas to participate in a local activity. Going back and forth is my specialty, and I would have teetered like the ass forever, but eventually you guys swayed me in the form of the newsletter.
Every month The BoMB comes in the mail, sometimes covering subjects I’m not privy to yet — What the heck is a GPM RG? Oh, there it is at the top. — but other times it is filled with pleasant banter between friends, who, it turns out, do discuss the dreaded directors, but don’t come across at all as too terribly nasal or urbane.
The newsletter also has information about happy hours, and dinners, and doing good for the community. This month’s edition (March 2006) convinced me! I want to participate in the Relay for Life, and I want to discuss the Relay at a first Thursday dinner with new friends. I really want to discuss the value of twins and triplets with someone, anyone. And, dare I say it, maybe one day go to a GPM RG!
Ay, but there’s a rub, ya n00b. First you have to break the ice, and you’re shy, remember? Timid. Nervous about fitting in. You are a lurker. A longtime lurker, destined to slink about forever because it would be most awkward to show up suddenly after all this time. “Hi. I’m Janis, and I’m here for the, uh, Mensa meeting. Is this the right place?” Oh, knock it off and cheer up already. You weren’t skulking, you were lurking, and lurking is the new preferred method for joining a group. See how the group runs before participating. Stand back and get a feel. Very smart, indeed. Who’s the girl?
By the time you read this, my de-lurking process will be in the past. I will have called up a perfect stranger, probably Stephen Wilhelm (because a guy that knows how to tip belly dancers surely knows a few tips on more mundane forms of ice breaking), and hope to have made myself useful in the Relay for Life event. While reading this, I hope a few of you now know who I am, and are right this minute forming friendly comments about how I didn’t need to worry about meeting you, that you suffered similar insecurities. I hope to have met a few new friends.
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