A Pizza Story

Way back in the last century I worked for about a year with a small no-nukes group. There was a lot about it that was great because this particular group, Armistice, took a dramatic arts approach to our activism. We used plays and such to make the case for disarmament and non-violence. We were the ones with the cool big puppets at the peace rallies. All good.

Here's when I knew that I wasn't cut out for organizing:

One evening, after an event, a bunch of us went up to Olympic Pizza on Queen Anne for pie. We got some drinks and our menus. We then proceeded to spend 40 mortal minutes trying to come "to consensus" on what to order. I was hungry when we went in and I've got a little bit of a blood sugar thing. Too hungry and I get surly beyond reason. Let's just say that after 40 minutes there was nothing in my demeanor or attitude that was remotely pacific or non-violent. I finally said something along the lines of, "For crying out loud! Get one full of meat and one full of vegetables and anybody who doesn't like something can pick it off. Just order!"

I'm all for listening to all viewpoints and considering a problem from all the angles. But at some point someone has to say, "Thanks for the input, here's what we're going to do". You can't please all the people all of the time, someone wisely observed. Consensus decision making is big with progressive groups. Which probably explains why we can't organize ourselves out of a paper bag.