I earned membership in MENSA, the society for folks with high IQ a long time ago, it feels like lifetimes ago. I actually earned it by a number of standards, yet, in retrospect, I suffered from “imposter syndrome” and was intimidated by the whole thing. I’d tell you that MENSA is like “freaks and geeks”, that’s what I expected them to be. But, I never went to a meeting, and “Freeks and Geeks” wouldn’t be a television show for another 20 years.
Here is how MENSA describes itself:
Mensa was founded in England in 1946 by a barrister named Roland Berrill, and Dr. Lance Ware, a scientist and lawyer. Mensa’s original aims were, as they are today, to create a society that is non-political and free from all racial or religious distinctions. “Mensa” means “table” in Latin, and the organisation(sic) was so named because Mensa is a round-table society where ethnicity, colour(sic), creed, national origin, age, politics, educational and social background are all completely irrelevant. In fact, the only relevant qualification for membership is scoring within the upper 2% of the general population on an approved intelligence test.
That is freaks and geeks personified, if you ask me. And yes, I marked up their grammar with a pair of (sic)s. I know it’s just the British spelling of the words, but I don’t speak the “King’s English”, and my readers deserve to know that I do know how to spell.
I earned my way into the group with standard IQ tests when I was relatively young. Everywhere I went, any school where I took standardized tests, I tested in the top 1% or 2% (the 98th and 99th percentile). Finally, at my parent’s urging I joined the group using my ACT and SAT scores as qualifiers.
It wasn’t something I really cared about. I felt like a freak and an outsider already, so going to a meeting of other freaks and outsiders only seemed likely to be more isolating. Why would I want to put myself through that voluntarily? I’d been forced to go to a private school, told to focus 100% on academics, and then told to get a job too. I even remember my parents insisting both that I join MENSA and also that I use my own money to join MENSA.
I started working at 14 on a “work permit” because my parents wanted me to pay for more school expenses. The private school I attended required students to purchase all the books necessary for our coursework. Ya, my Mom also insisted that I purchase only new textbooks. Well, isn’t that special…Right?
I wasn’t getting scheduled for many hours at work during the school year because of all the restrictions imposed by the work permit on the hours I could work. Unfortunately, the lack of hours carried over into the summer too when the restrictions were relaxed. So, in all their wisdom, my parents decided I needed to ask for more hours, and to go as far as telling them I would seek other employment if my scheduled hours didn’t increase…
I was due to turn 16 that summer, but the restaurant I was working at (cough, cough, Steak and Snake®, cough) wasn’t doing especially well through the day, and they needed employees who could work full 8 hour shifts and work late at night. I could not work very late at all, even in the summer. If my recollection is correct, I couldn’t work past 8pm because of the work permit.
Steak and Shake® was surviving on folks stopping in after movies from the big mall across the street, and traffic when the local drive-in let out. Adding insult to injury, I almost always worked with another cook who was lead, so I wasn’t really qualified to do the whole job on my own for a full shift. Not an ideal situation, but the check was steady, albeit short of much real money.
My Mom decided I needed to sign up for detasseling and work that in addition to my work at Steak and Shake®. I knew there we’re going to be issues with work hours, as the job wrangling corn was during the day and so was the restaurant gig. It was obvious we were going to have issues, that the schedules would conflict. My mom said we’d handle it when the actual conflict came to pass, and not to worry about it until then.
The very next week the schedule conflicted, I didn’t know what to do. My Mother insisted I simply work my hours detasseling, and to show up late if necessary to the restaurant with the “In Sight, It Must Be Right” motto. Ya, that went over real well. The very first night I showed up late to the place that’s “Famous for Steakburgers”, I was unceremoniously fired. Let go. Dismissed. Discharged. Shown the Door. Told buh-bye in an embarrassing and demeaning way.
So much for blindly following mom’s advice…
By the end of summer I had a new job at another restaurant. Remember the part about paying for my books? Well, once I had a steady job I got nicked for my gasoline for just about everything I did, for work, for school, and even the gas for the dates I went on. (I was charged for gas + a flat rate mileage for going on dates!)
Soon I was working at least 30 hours a week, because I was paying gas plus mileage to see my girlfriend, I needed every little scrap I could grab. And 30 hours a week became the magic number, because 30 hours was considered “Full-Time” which entitled an employee to profit sharing. That really was a thing in 1980, profit sharing in the restaurant business.
I digress (as usual) but the concept of profit sharing in the restaurant business led to a greater sense of pride in our product. Everybody pulled together to keep things running. Everybody knew more than one job. The company behind it all was very solid. They never ever borrowed money for a new restaurant opening. When they expanded, the company paid cash for everything.
They were fiscally and socially conservative. So conservative in fact that many of their actions would be absolutely illegal today. They practiced discrimination based upon sexual preference, and they practiced discrimination based upon religion too. I’m pretty sure they practiced discrimination in a number of other areas, those two were just the most egregious.
Apparently, that somehow made us a very good target for a buyout. It was the 1980’s and nothing made sense to me, to be very honest.
There have been times where very little made sense to me, especially after my worms ran away…
