In addition to joining a book club, I also joined a writing group this year at the local public library. Or at least, I attempted to.
The first meeting of the group was in October. As I walked into the room, I felt like I was entering the set of Golden Girls. Nobody in that room was under 60 years old. And I would bet that there was at least one or two women in her 80s. I felt totally out of place.
Then some of the women read samples of their writing. This woman who was so old, she looked like she was about to turn to dust at any second, read this endless story about breaking down crabs. Also, the woman who was running the meeting was one of those old people who just never shuts up. If she were my patient, I would have been interrupting her every thirty seconds. But since she was running the meeting, she had free reign to just babble on and on till I wanted to throw up. I felt so helpless. It was sort of like being stuck in a room with a talkative patient and an attending who won't interrupt them.
Finally, one woman started reciting poetry. And I had to sit there and pretend to find the poems amazing, even though I truly hate poetry.
By the end, I couldn't wait to get out of there. I couldn't believe I had voluntarily subjected myself to two hours of old people prattling on about stuff. I have to do that enough at work. I decided never to go back, if only because I was worried that if I was there long enough, I might get confused and start listening to their chests with my stethoscope.
That said, they now will not leave me alone!
I made the horrible, horrible mistake of writing down my actual real phone number on the sign-up sheet. So every month now, they call me about the next meeting. And they always call during the day, when I'm at work, and I pick up because I don't recognize the number and think it might be the daycare or something important.
I have not been to one other meeting. I asked them to stop calling and they didn't. I finally told them I was moving to another state, and they still gave me a reminder call this month. It's horrible. Who knew that the library writing group would be harder to get out of than the mafia?