I joined the site Meetup! some time ago, and promptly filtered out all the groups the owners of the site wanted me to join. I wanted a decent writer's group, and after reviewing a few I've determined that the best of the lot is Eastside Fiction Writers in Reynoldsburg, Ohio. This is a great group of people, and unlike other groups almost all of us have been published.
I've been to quite a few meetings with this group, and everything has gone along very smoothly, with a bare minimum of ruffled feathers and absolutely no meltdowns at all. That is, until today.
One of the ladies submitted a sci-fi short story for review, and it involved two living brains floating in a tank. The two, one male and one female, learn to talk to each other. It's a very good story, but then one of the future Pulitzer winners at the table said he'd like to see the two have sex, and that set the whole thing off. Between the talk-over contest and the risqué suggestions (one involved an implant connected to a special pleasure button, and some other genius just had to add, "Yeah! A big red one!"), and... well, Jen looked a bit alarmed and managed to quiet everyone down. But not before the damage was done.
It seems that our completely harmless but somewhat raucous conversation offended someone in the store, and the general manager, a nervous skinny kid of some nineteen years, came over to inform us that loud conversations about sex were against company policy. There was some quiet laughter and a promise to keep the conversation G-rated. The manager went away and the group blamed the whole business on me.
I suppose that's as good an outcome as anyone could hope for, but I would have cheerfully given a double sawbuck for two or three black militant lesbians eager to defend their civil rights.
As usual, the meeting was a success. I got some useful feedback and comments on my submission, and I'm now re-energized and ready to pound on the keyboard once again.