Hello,
Every so often someone starts a thread asking for amusing WTS anecdotes. I always enjoy them, so lets have another. I will start the thread with a tale of thwarted minions and District Conventions.
During a session I left my seat and stood at the back of the concourse. A few moments later a bespectacled, chubby attendant in a polyester jacket with pants at half mast, approached and instructed, ‘Brother, could you sit down’. Without taking my eyes from the platform I quietly but firmly replied, ‘No’. A pause of immense proportions began to unfold, eventually followed by a restatement of terms, this time with all the authority that could be mustered, ‘Brother, could you sit down’. He obviously reasoned that I had not heard him the first time. ‘No’, I again replied. A look of furious disbelief crossed his face and his mouth began to open and close like a Japanese Koi. Eventually I heard his steps fade away. He returned with a big wheel - the Attendant Overseer who immediately stopped in his tracks as he recognized me as his temporary CO from many years before. This time a pair of mouths displayed their fillings to the world. He sheepishly approached me and said ‘HS, we have been asked to make sure that all the Brothers remain seated during the session, will you co-operate. ‘No’, I said again, eyes still fixed on the platform. He looked down at my glistening brogues and at his own rubbery shoes and made a short, desperate little sighing sound.
They shuffled approximately ten feet away, out of earshot. Out of the corner of my eye I saw fingers stab the air aggressively and shoulders shrug again and again.
Later that evening I sauntered down to the bar in the hotel that we had checked into and noticed that the bar as ever was filled like a pot of boiling maggots with JW’s, foreheads rippling with perspiration, lapel badges cocked at odd angles, trying to drink away the numbness of the day.
I noticed the Attendant Overseer slouched at the bar waiting to be served. He stiffened as I approached. I stood in similar slouch next to him for a while in silence, then firmly broke the ice, ‘Hello Ben, how are you doing’. He frowned for while, then stood to attention and shouted with military precision, loudly enough to be heard in the next valley - ‘Its attitudes like yours that led to Korah’s death......be careful’. This was followed by a lengthy, post-assembly yawn from my own quarter.
Eventually a barman approached, I turned to Ben, ‘What are you drinking Ben’, ‘Oh, thanks HS, I’ll have a Guinness’.
Question. Would Esua, like Ben, have sold his birthright for a Guiness?
HS