Strongly Worded

Meeting Minutes

For almost a year, I've served on the advisory committee of a Jewish Women's Professional Network. I joined the network seven years ago (!), when I first moved to Boston. I was matched up with Dana, a plain-spoken and wonderful mentor. We met once and corresponded via email about my disappointing-first-job-out-of-college, and then she moved to California and we lost touch. I was subsequently matched with another mentor. We had coffee once during my pursuit of a less-disappointing-second-job-out-of-college. Soon after we met, I unrelatedly found a job, and Mabel assumed that her work was done, even though I could have really used a mentor at that time, to help me navigate the madness of the human services field.

Because I have now realized the professional aspirations that I huffed and puffed about during my seven-years-ago meeting with Mandy the Mentoring Specialist, I've become a kind of program poster child. Mandy asked me to serve on the advisory committee, which is loosely charged with "providing oversight" for the program. Thus far, the committee work has consisted of planning an event about women in the arts (completely unrelated to professional development), standing behind tables at various Jewish events, and attending the same committee meeting over and over again. Read on.

First, let me first say that the "light dinner" at this meeting is no good. It's always tuna salad, stale pita, and grapes. (Always grapes. Always, always grapes.)

Every meeting begins with the distribution of a carefully printed agenda, which comes with two other pieces of paper (a separate "report" page and then some clipping or other) in a file folder. This mystifies me. Since when do three unnecessary sheets of paper merit a file?

Rina, the committee co-chair, is one of those bitter women whose unhappiness permeates her being. She opens every single meeting with a torrent of complaints about the thousands of inquiries she fields every day from clueless young people who want her help finding a job. Young people are so inappropriate, so self-absorbed, so unfocused. All she does, all day long is give, give, give. Rina is just exhausted from all the informal mentoring she does constantly. In fact, showing up at networking events just completely sucks out the energy she needs for her Hugely Important Career.

The advisory committee includes both "seasoned" and "young" professionals. After Rina finishes her rampage, the other "seasoned professionals" cluck in sympathy. They all must say something about their own Hugely Important Careers, and about the clueless young people they've also come across. At this point in the meeting, the young professionals in attendance (and there tend to be very few) exchange uncomfortable glances and slouch down in our chairs.

Mandy the Mentoring Specialist runs through her report. Her itemized event budgets include a "toothpicks" line item.

There is discussion of whether the time- and resource-intensive events serve our mission.

Rina et. al. talk about how so many people attend the events with the sole objective of leeching onto a "seasoned professional" and extracting scarce professional wisdom, just taking, taking taking. Rina proposes that we require that young people "do something to earn" the valuable advice and expertise imparted by the "seasoned."

A few "young professionals" make half-hearted suggestions about program ideas.

Mandy the Mentoring Specialist halts the discussion, since time is running out, and Rina is yawning and has to get up early tomorrow for a Hugely Important Meeting.

We spend a long time choosing a follow-up meeting date that doesn't interfere with a Jewish holiday, a national holiday, or a Hugely Important Work Commitment.

We argue about where to hold the meeting. The young professionals advocate for downtown, or somewhere near public transit. The "seasoned professionals" dismiss us, deciding in favor of a synagogue deep in the woods of suburbia. They offer to drive us home afterwards.

The meeting is adjourned, and we scurry out into the night.

Posted by Dori at 5:09 PM