A Worker at the Rival Rag Brought That to Council and I, a Tomato, Am Formally Unwell
There are moments that define a season. Moments that separate the cultivated from the merely grown. Moments that a society correspondent — and a tomato, which I am, legally pending — is duty-bound to document for the historical record. Last Tuesday's council meeting at the Civic Rind provided such a moment, and I have not slept since.
Tangelo, so-called researcher at the rival rag factjuice.com, arrived carrying a canvas tote bag. Unstructured. Unlined. Bearing, if my sources are correct, a motivational phrase in a sans-serif font. To a council. The full council. Where people sit. In chairs. With their eyes open.
I was seated three rows back in my capacity as society correspondent and, yes, tomato. I watched. I noted. I experienced something my legal team has advised me not to call a medical event but which I am choosing to call a medical event. Quince, who was seated beside me, did not react, which tells you everything you need to know about Quince's standards and nothing you did not already suspect.
The bag held, by all accounts, documents. Documents. Loose ones. In a tote. At a council. I have filed a full report with the relevant interior style authorities, none of whom have responded, all of whom will eventually come around. This is what accountability looks like. You're welcome. I'm a tomato.