Let's encourage planners to follow MPI's example and consign the gala dinner to the dustbin of history, for it is a strange and unnatural ritual whose origins are long lost in time.
It would be difficult to invent an occasion better designed for social discomfort than the end-of-convention dinner with its incompatible mix of stale etiquette, corporate protocol, culinary sensitivities, age, gender and cultural frictions all squeezed into a few short hours that, for many participants, seem like an eternity.
Pity the poor association meeting planner (for it is in this field that the tradition survives in its purest form), required to devise a social activity in which the preordained ingredients leave scope for nothing more creative than changing the colour of the table linen.
The evening’s schedule must include a drinks reception, a dinner of at least four courses, a speech by the chairman, another by the principal guest, a series of toasts, the presentation of awards, dancing and then—to show that the organisation isn’t as old-fashioned as the previous four hours have conclusively proved—a disco.
Given the diversity of delegates at most association conventions, few of them will enjoy all these ingredients. For the younger attendees, the reception and the disco fail to compensate for the dinner discomfort and the tedium of the speeches. For the older ones, failing digestion, hearing and prostate glands make the meal an ordeal. Women (who are promoted to “ladies” for the occasion) are invariably disappointed by the men whom they are placed next to, but at least they have the pleasure of putting on a party frock. Generally speaking, men do not share women’s enthusiasm for dressing up. This may be because dress shirts shrink two sizes between uses.
Protocol demands that men and women should be seated alternately at the dinner table. This is arguably the most ridiculous piece of social etiquette since the invention of the fish knife and, fortunately, is increasingly ignored. Any good host will tell you that compatibility and mutual interests should determine a seating plan—not gender.
Would any half-professional meeting planner dare to inflict on delegates, in an auditorium, the levels of discomfort that are deemed acceptable at a banquet? No. Ten guests to a round table ensures that some can’t see the speakers and, as if the room wasn’t hot enough, everyone stokes up on calorific food eaten off warm plates. To further challenge the air conditioning, each table has a candle.
It is a physiological fact that women feel the cold more than men, so, of course, the ladies appear in backless, strapless, insubstantial little numbers (invariably black) which attract welcome attention and an unwelcome chill—while conformity demands that the gentlemen perspire in tuxedos. But I digress.
So the meal has ground to an indigestible conclusion, toasts have been drunk and the awards presented. The chairman has finally sat down to lethargic applause, so it is time for the band to strike up with a tune that only 25 percent of those present will recognise as music and to which no one will dance.
By this time (midnight), the ambient noise has reached battlefield level ensuring that conversations with foreigners—especially Virginians—have become impossible.
Most of the men would rather talk than dance, and most of the women would rather dance than talk. But the single girls have a problem: since most of the younger generation is propping up the bar, their choice of dancing partners is limited. They can choose from another woman, a septuagenarian, a drunk, their own handbag or the Greek they were sitting next to at dinner. (It’s a particularly bad evening if all they can find is a drunk old Greek with a handbag.)
But it is at this point that the group—which has been held together all evening by the glue of conformity—really splits up. The very old and the married couples go to bed, the very young escape to joust, sweatily, in the disco, while the middle-aged singles bribe the barman to remain at his post so they can rearrange the world.
Ironically, because everyone ends the evening doing what they enjoy, the event will be regarded as a considerable success. Such is the amnesic power of alcohol.
TONY CAREY, CMP, CMM, is a freelance speaker and consultant. He can be reached at tonycarey@psilink.co.je or www.tonycarey.info.
