Thursday, December 30, 2010

I’ve noted before, in various guises, that women are highly competitive. I have only received one chastisement to the contrary – from one of the most competitive females I know. Attempting to convince her otherwise than laughing at her put on would put one in her hippy mind as a permanently labeled “Charlie.”

For those of you that don’t understand “Charlie” in that context, it stems from the tuna fish adds of a humanoid tuna – named oddly enough “Charlie.” Charlie was somewhat of a buffoon.

Anyhow, our village clerk is quitting. She has turned in her resignation. That gives the village two weeks to find a replacement. I wish I could set the stage somewhat more fully, but I cannot. I’d just as soon see her go, but that is a personal thing. She is very good at what she is doing. She’s just too much into ‘directing’ event than she should be as a secretary.

There exists here in the village, factions. There are the Old Folks; those that are widowers, actually old, and their friends. They have a great deal to say about running the village. They run three of the four volunteer church groups.

Then, there’re the wives of the working stiffs, the blue collar bunch. Not as powerful as the Oldsters, but attending the same churches (sometimes), not as moneyed, but critical. Of just about everything and most everyone.

When the current village secretary got her job she had the support of the Old Folk bunch because she is(was) a local girl and her mother is a widower in the group. The mother lived next door to the incoming Mayor.

photoshare Winters Creek Harwich MA captpaulge 

So, when I heard of the resignation I drifted by the village offices to ask the lady ‘why.’ It proved to be a fun sort of meeting. She was happy to tell me she had secured a job doing the same work at a larger city closer to her home. “Ten minutes,” she said, “from inside my house to inside the city offices.”

She was happy.

She then drifted off into her stories of the various fractions and, more importantly, what each was saying about her, and had been saying for all the years she’d been working there.

I did ask if it was the same group that started putting up their versions of the city meeting minutes along side the ones she published. She admitted that it was the same group. And I asked who they were supporting for the secretary’s position this time when it came open. She said she didn’t know.

And then, just as her son came in, I asked if she really wanted to quit she said that she got the job despite those (skip a word) women, and she didn’t care who got the job. She didn’t seem overly enthused that she’d have to train whomever it became.

Fun, fun.

This should be good. Even if the fighting will be inside, out of sight (except for occasional smoke over the leafless trees), and possibly as vicious as only woman’s in-fighting can be. I was wondering what the two other groups of rarely seen together females were doing getting together at the coffee shop and the post office  and shutting up when “outsiders” walked by.


From the reaches,

Ten Mile

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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