Voices From The Neighborhood
There was a commotion outside my office door. Being the ever-curious, nosey busybody that I am, I had to see what was going on.
Standing there, wrapped in no less than three hugs, was Patricia, our state-appointed liaison. She was loved by many in our community. Despite overseeing 15 sites across the state, her heart was with ours—because this was her hometown.
I joined the hug fest, then stepped back and asked, “What brings you here in person? Usually, boss has to go downtown to see you.”
Patricia smiled. “Do you think we could use the conference room?”
I turned to the receptionist. “Is the fishbowl free for the next hour?”
“It’s open,” she confirmed.
I nodded and went back to let my boss and Patricia know. The three of us made our way into the glass-walled conference room, aptly nicknamed the fishbowl because everyone could see who was inside.
Patricia got straight to the point. “First, I want to say—you’re both doing a great job.”
My boss and I exchanged a look. We had both been trained in the same philosophy: The sandwich effect—commend, admonish, commend. Praise was usually the setup for a “but.”
Boss raised an eyebrow. “You’re buttering us up. What’s the bad news?”
Patricia chuckled. “Not bad news, exactly. Just another heavy task.”
“Tasks,” I echoed, feeling a hint of trepidation. “Oh, we love tasks.”
Patricia smirked. “I know you’ll handle this one. It’s just that we’ve been getting a lot of push from other sites…”
Boss crossed her arms. “Alright, lay it on us.”
Patricia took a deep breath. “The state wants you to host a community meeting—a formal presentation where you explain what you’ve accomplished over the past year.”
I shrugged. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
Patricia hesitated. “You need to have at least 200 people attend.”
In perfect unison, my boss and I groaned, “Ewwww.”
I leaned forward. “And what happens if we don’t get 200 people?”
Patricia leans in, voice dropping slightly.
Look, between you and me, the state is looking for an excuse to cut sites that aren’t showing strong engagement. I don’t think they want to drop you, but if you don’t pull this off, I can’t promise anything.
Boss and I locked eyes. The only event we had ever pulled 200+ people for was our multicultural festival, which even maxed out at 300. Could we even pull this off?
I muttered, “Should we call the high school band and have them pied-piper the whole neighborhood to the event?”
Patricia ignored my sarcasm and continued, “The location is up to you. You decide who to invite. But the state wants to see a diverse turnout—different groups and organizations, a true reflection of the community.”
She left us a little stunned. But once we got past the initial holy crap, we did what we did best—we strategized.
Boss suggested hosting the event at a local school. “But how do we actually get 200 people there?” she wondered aloud.
I smirked. “Boss, what’s your most famous line?”
“I don’t know,” she said, exasperated.
I leaned in. “How do you eat an elephant?”
She sighed, but I could see the gears turning. “One bite at a time.”
“Exactly. I have an idea.”
