Blackballed

 

40 years ago, I was a Rainbow Girl.  That’s where I learned someone could be blackballed:  we actually dropped marbles into a wooden box.

I am not in favor.  Later in life, I got blackballed.  (No, not Eastern Star.)  Bogus!  Before being blackballed, a body deserves to bear evidence before an unbiased arbitrator.

After Rainbow, I was a dancer in an exclusive troupe: by invitation only.  If you didn’t make the cut, the person who invited you had to purvey the pink slip.  That just smells bad.  (Ha – One dancer was dismissed for exactly that.)

But halitosis and hygiene are correctable.  An open forum seems more sensible—like a trial, where the truth emerges from evidence, arguments, and arbitration.  It can be humiliating (hello, halitosis!), but for some, that’s a small price.  Each side, then, tests the information’s truthfulness, relevancy, and sufficiency, and nobody’s blackballed until the fat lady sings.  (Another reason for getting kicked out of a close-precision dance troupe.)

Groups use these anonymous voting methods to “preserve the current ethos… by ensuring that candidates are congenial to (almost) all the existing members. …A difference of opinions could be divisive, so that an election must be taken secretly…” [wiki]  In some clubs, if somebody is blackballed, the person who invited them is expected to resign: “the failed election implied that they are not knowledgeable of the club’s ethos…”  Brother. This is starting to reek.  Like a pothead.  (Reason No. 3)

If you’re ever blackballed, see if you can find out why.   Bring a friend.  Get details:  like who the pothead was that blackballed you.  And find out who held the gavel.  If these two are basically Beavis and Butthead, maybe this club isn’t for you.

I’m just sayin’.

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This entry was posted in Christianity, Keeping up Appearances, Relationships and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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