Big Brother’s 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.  (It’s a good thing I don’t 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 — thirty-eeeeight, thirt-tee-ninnnne, forty!— and fell back onto the floor, exhausted.